


First Blood

by bookworm213



Series: Blood on Our Lips like a Crimson Shrine [1]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Ballet, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Bolshoi Theatre, Bucky still loses his arm, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Imperial Russia, Nat is from imperial russia not the ussr, References to Historical Events, Sex in later chapters, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Vampire AU, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Wolves, brief appearances by historical figures, buckynat - Freeform, except Natasha is a vampire and finds bucky after he falls from the train, the captain america shit still happens, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-01-10 11:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 33,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm213/pseuds/bookworm213
Summary: Natasha Romanoff, a vampire who has been on her own for nearly a century, finds a dying Bucky Barnes after his fall from the train. To save his life, she turns him into what she is. Now Bucky must come to terms with what he now is, and as Natasha grows close to someone for the first time in so long, they must navigate the new world around them together.





	1. Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue how long this will be, but I want to finish it!
> 
> The next chapter will be from Bucky's perspective. I hope you enjoy! :3

The wolves didn’t mind her company. With other animals it was different: dogs whimpered and shied away, horses reared and snapped their teeth at her when she approached. Humans didn’t give beasts enough credit: they knew when something was horribly wrong, when a creature didn’t belong in the world of the living.

But the wolves tolerated Natasha. They seemed to know a predator when they saw one, a predator whom was matched evenly with them, and they respected that. Even now the leader of the pack kept a safe few feet away from her, his breath puffing steam into the cold air around him, dark eyes watching Natasha and russet fur shifting with the wind. His pack stood further back, the females huddled around their newborn pups and the other males with their heads cocked, listening for the sounds of a stray deer or rabbit wandering to close, prey to sustain themselves and their young.

Natasha turned away from this scene and shifted on the ground where she sat. The thick snow was starting to seep through her black muslin dress, probably a few decades out of fashion, and her bare feet made prints on the soft white ground. Not that Natasha minded: she hadn’t felt the cold in nearly ten decades, and she didn’t much care for fashion anymore, though she would have to procure a new dress at some point. She couldn’t arouse human suspicion by letting her clothes get so out of date. 

Maybe that’s why she liked it out here, with only the wolves for company and the pine trees surrounding her. Spending life around humans was exhausting and unnerving. Watching humans die and the world change around her gave her vertigo. And now they were wrapped in another war which saw thousands slaughtered every day. Natasha shook her head. No, humans saddened her. That’s why she stayed in the wilderness, and only went into human areas when she needed to feed. 

And yet . . . when she looked down at her worn clothes, Natasha couldn’t help but think of the colorful costumes of the imperial ballet. The way she danced for the Tsar’s and their families, all those years ago, before she was turned. Before her homeland became a military state fueled by hypocrisy. That had been the reason she’d left, and wandered from country to country until she’d found herself in Italy, hiding in the mountains. She’d had enough of human life. And yet, she still missed it sometimes.

Natasha was started out of her thoughts by the sound of a train thundering overhead, in the mountains. The wolves shifted and a few whined. So maybe she wasn’t as free from humans up here as she thought. Natasha sighed and returned her gaze ahead of her, her red curls vivid against ghostly pale skin. The leader of the pack stepped a few feet closer and lay down with his head on his paws, and a mutual look of trust passed between them. Natasha allowed her eyes to close.

Wolves and girls. Both have sharp teeth.

Her eyes snapped open and her body went rigid at the smell. Tangy and warm in the frigid air, nearly irresistible to a being like her. It had to be blood. Human blood.

Natasha’s stomach growled, and her tongue instinctively darted out to lick her cherry lips as she felt her fangs coil downward at the scent. It had been about three days since she had fed properly, and she knew she needed to feed again soon. Seems she wouldn’t have to go to the nearest town after all.

Near her the wolves had picked up the scent as well, turning their noses to the air. The leader was on his feet, and lifted his head in a howl, which was soon echoed by the rest of the pack. But Natasha was already up and moving swiftly towards the scent, her feet barely making a sound as they pounded the snow. Her movements and speed were effortless, and soon she was near the source of the blood, her instincts fully awakened and her hunger sharp and insistent.

The first thing she was conscious of besides the blood were the low moans of agony, echoing off of the wide mountains. A male voice, young. Then as she neared the clearing where the trees stopped, she noticed the red that stained the snow. Her mouth watered and her eyes followed the trail to the source.

A young man was sprawled on his back in the snow. The navy of his coat stood out among the white, and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead. Natasha drew closer until she was standing over him, and she fully saw his face. A handsome face, a set jaw and full lips, well-trimmed hair and face. Natasha’s eyes traveled from his face down to his chest, and then . . .

His arm. His left arm had been ripped from his body, leaving a bloody stump where it should have been. Natasha could only guess as to where the missing limb was, or how it came to be severed from his body. The man’s skin had turned as pale as the snow, almost as pale as her own skin. He was bleeding out. He wouldn’t last more than a few hours. If his wound didn’t kill him first, the cold would.

A howl behind her alerted Natasha to the arrival of the pack. She turned in time to see the leader stalk forward, followed by the other hunters, eyes on the man and saliva dripping from their jaws as they sought to take advantage of the meal that had so easily been delivered for them.

Natasha’s lips pulled back from her teeth and a snarl ripped from her throat as she stood in front of the man, staking her claim. She stared down the leader until he fell back, ears flattening against his head and a growl coming from his throat, but begrudgingly submitting. Natasha waited until he had turned and fled into the trees, and the rest of his pack with him, before turning back to the man.

He was still moaning, delirious and seemingly unaware of what was going on around him. Another fierce pang of hunger hit, and Natasha bit her lip.

I should put him out of his misery.

She could see the pulse point at his throat, tell that his heartbeat was erratic and labored. She lowered herself onto her knees and bent over him, her mouth opening to let her teeth extend, immediately finding the main artery at his throat.

She drank.

His blood filled her mouth, tangy and sweet, soothing the aching hunger that had threatened to overwhelm her rational mind. She could hear his heartbeat fluttering, then weakening as she drained the fluid from his system. Her instincts were screaming at her to suck him dry, to drain every last drop from the man and still not be fully satisfied, but something made her pull back.

She raised her head and looked at his face. His moans had subsided, and a sort of peace had come over his face. The stump of his arm was still dripping blood, but besides that he still looked young, in the prime of life. She couldn’t have been much younger then him when she was first turned. 

What a waste. 

She started to lean in again to drink more, but she stopped.

No, not this. Not like this. 

Instead, she raised her wrist to her mouth and sliced the skin with her teeth. For a moment, she stared at the blackish blood pouring from her vein. And then she leaned over the man again and pressed the open wound to his mouth.


	2. Transformation

Sergeant Barnes, 32557038 . . . 

Barnes, Buchanan, James . . .

Cold . . . it’s so cold . . .

“Bucky! Grab my hand!”

“NO!”

His body wouldn’t work. His eyes wouldn’t open. He struggled to open his eyes, to move his hands, but they wouldn’t respond. He could hear screams of agony reverberating off of the snow-capped mountains, and it took a few minutes for him to realize they were coming from his lips. 

I . . . I shouldn’t be alive . . .

The train . . . he had fallen hundreds of feet. He should be dead. Why wasn’t he dead?

Sergeant Barnes, 32557038 . . .

In the distance, a wolf howled.

It’s so cold . . .

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, but eventually he felt his breathing become labored, and his heartbeat slowed in his ears.

I’m going to die.

Barnes, Buchanan, James.

Then he heard the footsteps. Almost completely inaudible against the snow. He had the vague sensation of someone bending over him, except he couldn’t feel the heat of another body. If anything, the figure was colder than the frigid mountains around him. The he heard the sound of wolves approaching, and a sudden, animalistic growl from the figure above him. He had to be dreaming. He had to be dead.

He barely had the power to cry out as he felt something sharp sink into his throat. He lay there as whatever was above him drank, as his heartbeat slowed even further and his strength fully drained away. White spots were forming behind his eyelids, and the strangest sensation of peace came over him. He had to be dead.

But then something else happened. He felt something wet and slick being pressed against his mouth. His lips parted slightly and he felt a few drops of liquid on his tongue.

“Drink. Please.” It was a woman’s voice, low and melodious. The liquid tasted like cold tar in his mouth. His head wouldn’t turn away. Instead, almost instinctively, he swallowed, then swallowed again. 

After he had gulped down a few mouthfuls of the substance, whatever was against his mouth withdrew. Once again he was peaceful, and he was sure he was dead. Maybe this was all a dream, and he had died when he fell from the train, Steve’s horrified eyes watching him as he fell. 

But suddenly, whatever liquid that was in his stomach started to burn. Low at first, then so intense that he wanted to scream in agony. Whatever pain he had felt before was nothing compared to this. But his mouth still wouldn’t open. He tried again, desperately, but his body was still frozen.

He wanted to scream. Please, make this stop. But a wave of pure black swept over his vision. And he took it gratefully, glad to be free of the pain, if only for a little while.

————————

He dreamed.

He was falling from the train. He was running alongside wolves. Most frightening of all, he was gulping down rivers of blood, satisfying a hunger that screamed to be stated. He had no sense of time. He might have been dreaming for a few days, or a few minutes. But when he opened his eyes, he was no longer lying outside in the snow.

He was in a cave. Illuminated by the snow outside, it was surprisingly dry and well-kept. He wondered why he didn’t see a fire anywhere, but then, he realized with a start that he didn’t feel the cold blowing in from the mouth of the cave.

He groaned and with difficulty found that he could move his body. But the relief of that turned to horror when he looked to his left.

My arm . . .

He thought he was going to retch, but there was nothing in his stomach to purge from his system. His eyes were locked on the stump where is arm used to be. Someone had tied it with an old cloth, but he could still see the rusty stains where his blood had seeped through the fabric. 

The sight of the blood made his mouth water, and he wasn’t sure why.

He started to shake. His whole body felt wrong. Not just the arm, something else. Something had happened to him. Something had changed. His skin was so pale, and when he ran his tongue over the top of his teeth, he could feel the beginnings of something sharp tucked away in his gums. 

Movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to look up. His mouth fell open as he beheld a woman sitting in the corner, watching him. Her skin was as pale as his own, but her hair was a dark red, like fire, long and loose around her shoulders. She wore a black dress that looked worn and tattered, and her feet were bare. She gazed at him with icy blue eyes, inhumanly blue eyes, and her full, sensual lips were almost the color of her hair. 

Bucky struggled to find his voice, and when he did, it was rusty and faint, but the woman cocked her head as though she had no trouble hearing him from across the cave.

“What . . . what happened to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand second chapter is done! I'll try to have the third chapter up tomorrow! ;)


	3. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: I'm not always going to be able to publish new chapters this often. I have school usually but I'm on a four-day break, so I've been able to do a lot of writing. I'll try to update as often as I can, but please be patient with me!

The man was still sleeping, occasionally muttering and crying out, clearly in the throw of a nightmare. Natasha wondered briefly if she should wake him. But no, the transformation was still taking place. She should be patient and let whatever was happening run it’s course.

She frowned as she watched him from her corner of the cave, her knees tucked into her chest. She still wasn’t entirely sure what had compelled her to bring this man back. It was something in his face. That young, innocent face. Something that made her forget the gnawing hunger in her belly and awakened some long dormant feeling in her chest. She just couldn’t bring herself to end his life. So she saved it in the only way she knew how. 

He moaned again and a pang of guilt stabbed through her. He had to be in pain. Natasha remembered very little of her own transformation, except that the pain had her writhing on the floor in agony, and she had woken up in the dark, with the hunger tearing at her and her creator standing over her. It wasn’t something she liked to think about. She wrapped her arms tighter around her knees and looked away from the man. Instead her eyes traveled to a small satchel on the ground next to her. It contained the only possessions she carried with her now: a pure gold locket with a broken chain. A pair of her old ballet slippers, frayed from use and the ravages of time. A silver pocket watch. The only things that still kept her anchored to her old life. Sometimes, Natasha felt that she was forgetting more and more with each passing decade. Certain names and faces remained, of course. There were some people she could never forget, no matter how painful. Maybe in a few more years, all that would remain would be those memories, and nothing else.

Natasha sighed and turned her attention back to the man, who has still tossing fitfully on the ground. His mouth opened and she could see the beginnings of his fangs had pushed out of his gums. Another pang of guilt stabbed through her.

It wasn’t like she enjoyed this life. It had grown bearable for her, now that she had given up trying to live around humans and thinking hard about the life she took to sustain herself. But how would this man feel? Would he think that his life, or rather his death, had been stolen from him by some monster? Natasha was a monster, at least in the human definition. She killed people, countless people, all her kind did. But she did it out of necessity, not because she wanted to. Even if she tried not to kill humans, her hunger would eventually drive her to do so anyway. If she went to long without feeding, her instincts would completely overwhelm her, and all rationality and thought would be gone. Maybe that’s another reason the wolves weren’t afraid of her. They understood killing out of necessity.

But what if the man didn’t? 

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she should have let him die. But . . . she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the man’s eyes flying open. She watched as he looked wildly about the cave, seemingly unaware of her presence. His eyes were glazed with confusion and panic. She watched as he noticed the mangled stump of his left arm, his mouth dropping open in horror and his expression like he was about to faint again. She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him somehow, but she had no idea what to say. So she waited.

Finally, the man noticed her. He stared at her for a moment, as if trying to determine whether Natasha was real or not. Then he opened his mouth.

“What . . . happened to me?”

Natasha stared at him, then looked away. “I . . . I don’t know.” It was partially true, she had no idea how he had come to be bleeding out in a snowbank alone. “I found you like this. You were dying. I saved you . . .” her voice trailed off.

“I . . .I feel wrong . . .” The man groaned as he struggled to sit up. Without thinking, Natasha crossed the cave and tried putting her hand on his back to steady him. But he flinched away as though bitten by a snake.

“Your skin. It’s so cold . . .” He was shaking, his eyes wide and his teeth chattering. “My skin is so cold, and my arm . . .” His breathing was erratic. “What . . . what’s wrong with me?”

Once again Natasha wanted to reach out and steady him, but she refrained. “I, I didn’t know how else to save your life. I made you . . .” she swallowed. “I made you like me.”

“Like you?” His right hand was digging into the ground in an attempt to steady himself, so hard that his fingers were ripping through the soil. “What are you? Who are you?”

Natasha looked away, her brow creasing. “I’m . . . my name is Natasha. Natasha Romanoff.” It occurred to her that this was the most she’d spoken aloud to another being in a long, long time.

She turned again when she heard him get shakily to his feet. “I have to go. I have to find my unit. Find Steve . . .” He cried out as his feet gave way beneath him. 

With inhuman speed, Natasha had caught him in her arms before he could collapse. “Please, don’t try to stand,” she pleaded, as she lowered the exhausted man to the ground. “I’ve felt this before. When I was first turned. The weakness will pass.” She didn’t mention that once the weakness faded, the urge to feed would take over, the need to kill that was all-encompassing. She left that part unsaid. 

With all the strength drained out of him, the man faded back into unconsciousness. She watched him as he again slept fitfully, turning his head and muttering. She heard the words.

“Sergeant Barnes, 32557038 . . .”

Barnes. 

Natasha resumed her duty as sentry, watching him for hours as Barnes slept and the transformation progressed further. His skin grew even paler, and the veins in his throat and arm grew visible and purplish-blue. At one point, the wolves came to investigate, sniffing the air and wondering if Natasha had saved some of her meal for them. But a warning growl from Natasha was enough to send them away, their tails drooping and indignant rumbles coming from their throats.

Nearly two days had passed before the man woke up again. Natasha had been contemplating whether or not to venture from the cave to feed when his eyes opened. They were ice blue, sharp and clear, the color of a clear lake. 

The color of her own eyes. 

His hair was nearly black against his skin, and his lips were redder than before. When he sat up, his did so without difficulty. But his eyes were still confused and afraid, and no sooner had he sat up then he was groaning and clutching his stomach.

“What . . . what’s happening?”

Natasha knew all too well what was happening. His mouth fell open and she could see that his fangs had fully extended, breaking through the skin of his gums and glinting in the low light.

She looked at him gravely. “You’re hungry. You need to feed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw: Natasha's creator has a name, and we'll learn more about him in future chapters! I'm taking a lot of inspiration from Nat's comic background, so see if you can guess who it is! ;)


	4. Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Here's chapter 4, hope you enjoy! I LOVE comments, especially long ones, so don't be afraid to tell me what you think!

He’d felt pain before, so much of it. His army training, the war. Being tortured by Zola, and finally turning into . . . whatever he was now. All of it was different compared to this pain.

His entire body pulsed with need. He could feel his new, sharp teeth cutting into his bottom lip as they enlarged, breaking through the skin of his gums. His stomach was growling; it felt so hollow that Bucky felt like he’d been gutted. He was hungry, so hungry.

He’d been hungry before. He’d lived through the Depression, when people stood in long lines outside soup kitchens and scavenged through garbage for scraps. He and Steve had done the same. He knew what hunger felt like. This . . . this hunger was different. 

“ . . . feed?” He looked at the woman, Natasha, her name was Natasha, blankly. Her white face wore a worried expression, like she was holding back from telling him something.

“Do you . . . do you have food?” To he honest, he couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Probably at base before he and the other commandoes had headed out with Steve. No wonder he was this hungry. 

Natasha shook her head, her brow crinkling. “Food won’t help you.” Her mouth opened and Bucky could see her run her tongue over a pair of sharp teeth exactly like his own. What the hell had he turned into?

But she was right: the thought of food, even his favorite dishes, made his stomach turn with nausea until he thought he would be sick. How could he be this hungry and not want food? The tearing ache in his stomach was screaming for something else. But . . . what exactly?

Natasha came over and knelt beside him. Even in his fevered, panicked state, Bucky could she that she was beautiful. Her red hair was long and fell in waves past her shoulders. A few days ago, he would have tried flirting with a dame like her. She looked pained, like she wanted to reach out to him. But the thought of her ice-cold skin made him shudder. He looked away and found the stump of his left arm, which only made him want to vomit again.

“I’m hungry too,” Natasha said. She swallowed, looking toward the mouth of the cave. “We need to hunt. I’ll show you how.”

“Hunt? Hunt for what?” Bucky struggled to stand, finally getting to his feet despite the nausea and being off balance from his left arm being gone. 

Natasha got to her feet too, and gave him a long, hard look. “You need blood.”

At another point, Bucky might have laughed. But he knew this strange woman wasn’t joking. Too stunned to say anything, he merely shook his head mutely, his body starting to shake again.

Before he could register her, Natasha had floated over to him and took hold of his wrist. Her blue eyes met his. “There’s a town a few miles from here. A good number of people, plenty of places to go unseen. They won’t notice of one or two people go missing.”

Bucky thought his eyes might bulge out of his sockets. Furiously, he shook his head. “I . . . I can’t do that. I won’t do that!” This was wrong, this was so wrong. He wrenched his arm from her cold grip.

Natasha looked at him sadly. “Even if you refuse now,” she said. “You’ll do it anyway eventually. You won’t be able to stop yourself.”

Bucky glared at her, but deep down he knew she was right. Already the gnawing in his stomach was making it harder to think. He looked at the floor of the cave and saw blood splattered there. His blood. The sight of it made his stomach growl again and his mouth become slick with saliva. 

——————————————

Natasha could see that the man was struggling, and it made the silent pit of her heart ache. He was terrified, just like she was when she first felt the hunger, when she first hunted. Like him, she’d tried to resist feeding, but her creator had dragged her out of her hiding place and put her in the path of a young farmer out tending his fields. She would never forget the man’s terrified eyes as she felt the first sweet drops if his blood on her tongue. The way his scream abruptly dissolved into frothy gurgles as her fangs bit through his throat. After so many years, she had gotten used to killing. But she never could never forget the horror of her first kill.

Once again, tremendous guilt flowed through Natasha at the thought of this man enduring that horror. She wanted to reach out and touch him again, comfort him somehow, but she knew any attempt on her part would be rebuffed.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the scraping of paws in the snow. The wolves had returned. The leader was eyeing the man warily at the entrance to the cave, with his pack behind him, eager to take shelter from the heavy snow outside.

Barnes had returned to his sitting position on the ground. Snapped out of his haze, he raised an eyebrow at Natasha. “Friends of yours?”

Natasha snorted, locking eyes with the leader, who emitted a low whine, as though asking permission to enter. Natasha shrugged. “Sometimes,” she said to Barnes. “I bring them food.” She had no use for the bodies after she drained them, and the wolves did. 

Barnes looked over at the wolves, and his nose wrinkled. “Can’t I . . . use one of them? Instead of a person?”

The wolves thick heartbeats pounded in Natasha’s ears, but the smell of their blood was sour and rotten. It made her grimace. “It wouldn’t sustain you. Not like humans.” 

Barnes looked at her, and anger flashed over his face. “Why did you make me like this?” 

Natasha flinched. “You were dying. I couldn’t leave you there. You were . . .” Too young? Did he bring up memories in her that she hadn’t felt or thought about for years?

He glared at her. “I didn’t ask for that. For this. You should have . . .” Those words hung in the air between them, and Natasha bit her lip. 

The pack was still outside, whining to be allowed in. Natasha ignored them.

And then she smelled it, like before. The scent of human blood wafted into the cave, alighting all her senses and awakening the hunger anew. Natasha looked at Barnes. His eyes were wide, his mouth open and his fangs fully extended. Instinct had taken over, and his eyes were full of the ravenous light Natasha knew only too well. 

He was on his feet and running into the darkness before Natasha. For a second, she stared after him, then her feet were carrying her towards the scent as well. She left the cave to the wolves, who were all too happy to take her place as Natasha ran through the snow-capped trees after Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Bucky's first hunt. It's not going to be as horrific as Natasha's, you'll see what I mean later! ;)


	5. Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everybody! I'm glad I finished this chapter in time to post it tonight! Unfortunately it might take awhile for me to update again, b/c school just got really bad right now! :((( Anyway enjoy this new chapter!

The trees flew past in a blur. He was running, running faster than he had ever run in his life. His feet were barely making prints on the snow. All he could focus on was the smell of the blood in the air, the thundering heartbeats in his ears. 

Part of his mind, the logical part, was screaming at him to stop. To turn around and run the other way, that he was most likely about to kill someone innocent. But the hunger was drowning it’s voice. He couldn’t concentrate on anything but making the gnawing in his stomach go away.

He could hear the light thudding of footsteps behind him (and God his hearing was so sharp now he could practically hear the sound of the snow hitting the ground) and he knew Natasha wasn’t far behind. Glimpses of their conversation before he had run flashed through his mind. He hadn’t believed what she had said, didn’t want to believe them. But with this scent in the air, sweet and overpowering and irresistible, this time he did believe her. As horrifying as it was, there was no denying that he wanted blood. 

Up ahead he could see the tree line thinning. His mind lurched as he realized he was approaching where he landed after his fall.

He could see search lights cutting through the darkness. Instinctively his feet brought him to a stop, and he crouched under the thick underbrush. Bucky could hear the thick heartbeats pounding, at least five up ahead in the clearing. His mouth watered and the sound, making him swallow hard. Terror welled up inside him at the realization that he could hear and smell these people so clearly, and how despite the darkness he could see with the upmost precision as his eyes illuminated the night.

Voices barked through the trees. English, heavily accented with German. “Find him! Zola wants the soldier back at the laboratory my morning! He could not have gotten far with those injuries. Keep looking, you idiots!”

Bucky’s lips pulled back from his teeth in rage at the words. Zola’s men. HYDRA agents. 

(Sergeant Barnes, 32557038 . . . Bucky screamed endlessly for hours as Zola stood over him with tools and drills, cutting into him, hollowing him out, inserting things into his skin. When Steve found him, he was endlessly murmuring his name and number, his skin burning. He woke up screaming night after night after they made it back to camp, expecting to find Zola’s jeering face hanging above him, ready for another procedure. . . )

The snarl ripped from Bucky’s throat before he could stop it. It was an absolutely feral sound, low and angry. It made the rational part of him scream in terror. But it was quickly smothered by hunger and rage. His curled out from his gums so that they were fully extended, sharp and glistening and angry. 

“We should look again in the morning. There are wolves that live in these woods.” A nervous voice spoke. 

“No, we find him or we stay here until we do,” the commanding voice barked. “The second in command of HYDRA won’t let us return empty-handed.”

Bucky didn’t notice Natasha had caught up with him until she was on her knees beside him, her black dress splayed out over the snow. Their eyes locked briefly; Bucky could see hunger and calculation reflecting in those blue pools. She made a gesture with her arm, waving it out towards the men to make her meaning clear: you go first.

“I’ll look look in the woods, his injuries should leave a clear trail . . .” one of the men approached where they were crouching. Peeking from behind the bush, Bucky could see the pulse point at the man’s throat, his body leaking heat into the cold air. The hunger pains intensified, making Bucky nearly double over in pain. 

The man was moving even closer into the bushes. A few more seconds and he would be out of sight of the others. Bucky could feel his body instinctively coiling up like an animal about to pounce. He was an animal. All rational thought was banished from his mind. All that mattered was the hunger and the hunger wanted this. Wanted blood.

He lunged. 

He was on top of the man before he could scream, the nails of his right hand digging into the man’s chest. The man struggled helplessly under his grip, his eyes bulging in terror as he tried to struggle free. Within that second, Bucky’s fangs found the pulse point under his throat, effortlessly breaking the delicate skin. 

Bucky drank.

The taste was like nothing he’d experienced before. Tangy and sweet, the dark red liquid filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin. It was better than anything he had ever eaten or drank. He gulped greedily, feeling the struggles of the man grow weaker and weaker underneath him. The blood was warm, filling his ice-cold stomach, until the gnawing, tearing hunger that had been tormenting him was somewhat soothed. 

All too soon, the man ran dry. Bucky gasped as his teeth released the man’s throat, raising his head and feeling the blood drip down his face, staining his already filthy jacket. He licked his lips, drawing those last drops into his mouth. He wanted more.

Beside him, Natasha was gone. Bucky didn’t see where until he heard screams and shouts coming from the clearing. 

She had already drained two men, their bodies lying lifeless on the ground. She was on top of a third. Some of them had tried to draw their firearms on her, but they lay in twisted heaps on the ground. Even in his half-crazed state, Bucky was impressed by her skills. 

The last man had fallen on a rock and injured his leg. Bucky approached him as he struggled to crawl away. “No! Please!” The man gasped out a strangled cry as Bucky crouched over him. “Don’t-“

After a few minutes, Bucky lifted his head from the body to find Natasha standing over him. Like him, her face was stained with blood, though she had managed to avoid getting any on her dress. Her eyes shone even in the darkness, and her hair was stuck at wild angles from the struggle.

Instinctively, almost like a child, Bucky drew his arm up and wiped his mouth across his sleeve, smearing the blood. Then he glared at Natasha. “You got one more than me.”

Natasha huffed out a breath, a slight smirk coming over her bloodstained face. “First come, first served. You did well, for your first hunt.”

At those words, the rational part of Bucky’s mind came screaming back. What he had just done, the bodies laying all around him.

But then he thought of those men, and what they were here to do. HYDRA, Nazi scum. They deserved it. And he felt a horrific delight in thinking about draining dry every last one of them, or the look on Zola’s eyes as his experiment sunk his teeth into his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway I thought Bucky killing HYDRA people would be really satisfying! ;)


	6. Answers

Barnes was still trying to scrub the blood off his face with his hand, occasionally stopping to lick the rusty flakes from his fingers. The remains of his first kills had badly stained his jacket, and his eyes were wide, as though still trying to process what had just occurred. He had done well. Natasha admitted as much to him, considering his horror when she first told him of his need for blood. He would be hungry again in a day or two though. Older creatures like Natasha could usually put off feeding for about a week before it became too much. Newer ones however, had little self-control, and thus couldn’t go long without needing to feed again.

Natasha turned back to the trees as a breeze whipped around them, rustling her dress. “We should go back. It will be light soon.”

“What about them?” Barnes gestured to the men lying lifeless and bloodless at their feet.

She shrugged. “The wolves can have them.” 

Barnes glared down at the twisted corpse of the man he had just drained. “Fine by me.”

As he followed her back towards the trees, Natasha said, “Next time, we’ll have to go into the town nearby. It’s not often that a free meal wonders into these woods.”

Barnes muttered, “HYDRA agents. Nazi scum, all of them! Deserved it, deserved everything that they got . . .”

Natasha merely shrugged at that. She no longer tried to understand human conflicts. She had heard of the horrific things the Nazis were doing in other parts of the world, and it made her sick to her core. She had seen things like this over and over, albeit not as large, over the past hundred years. Humans were cruel, and they never learned. If those men were Nazis, then they indeed deserved what had happened to them.

The wolves had been lured out by the smell of food, so they cave was empty when they returned to it. Barnes immediately slumped against the cave wall, exhausted from the nights events. Natasha sat down too, leaning her back against the cave wall and wrapping her arms around her knees.

“So . . . I’m a vampire now?” Barnes asked flatly, making her cringe a little. She’d always disliked that name.

“Essentially.” She gave him a wan smile. “Straight out of a storybook.” 

Barnes snorted, then glanced at the opening to the cave. “What happens if we go out during the day?”

“We don’t catch on fire, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Natasha wrinkled her brow. “The sun weakens us gradually. Dulls our senses. It’s safer to be out at night, or only go out briefly during the day. It’s easier to hunt at night anyway.”

He considered this, and then looked at her again. “Can we turn into bats?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Myth. I have no idea where humans got that idea.”

Barnes chuckled. “So no bats and no burning?”

“No.” Natasha frowned. “We need to feed regularly, at least once a week, or we’ll weaken. We can’t feed on anything other than human blood, luckily finding humans isn’t difficult-“

Barnes shook his head. “I’m not doing that again. Those men, they were different . . .”

Natasha sighed, “You’ll eventually learn to see it as necessity-“

“No.” His voice took on a sharp edge.

Natasha muttered, “Упрямая жопа.”

“is that . . . Russian?”

“Yes.” Natasha faltered. “I was born there.”

“You’re a Red, then?”

Natasha grimaced. “Don’t insult me. They slaughtered millions of innocents. Friends and family. That is why I left.”

“Almost thirty years ago.” Barnes’s gaze was penetrating. “How . . . how old are you exactly?”

Natasha frowned. Truthfully, she had lost count. “One-hundred and seventeen?”

His eyes widened, and Natasha looked away, suddenly embarrassed. Her gaze lingered in the bag containing her things, things that were nearly one hundred years old. She hardly felt the passage of time anymore, until it suddenly dawned on her and all the years came flooding back at once.

Details now were starting to get harder for her to remember. She remembered being a child, her parents had raised her until she was about six, before they had both died of a fever. After that she had been taken to one of Moscow’s many orphanages. She was eight when she was taken by the Orphanage’s Headmistress to an audition at the Imperial Ballet school. Looking back, the headmistress must have saw it as a way to remove an unwanted mouth from the orphanage’s table, but for Natasha it had changed her entire world.

She could still remember practicing the positions in front of the ballet master. His harsh stare as he examined the arches of her feet and the grace of her arms. But evidentially it had gone well, because the next day she was sent to live and study at the imperial ballet academy, and on the path to becoming a professional dancer. 

That girl had been dead for nearly a century. Natasha’s heart ached thinking of that little girl, and what had become of her. Turned into . . . this. She shook her head. She couldn’t think about it anymore.

“James.” Barnes’s voice roused her from her thoughts. She looked at him questioningly.

“James Barnes. That’s my name. But my friends call me Bucky.” 

“Bucky? That’s a strange name.” Natasha laughed, and he shrugged. “You don’t have to call me that.”

She mused on that for a moment. “James is a nice name.” 

He smiled. “James it is then.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, both lost in thought.

“You know,” James mused, “I’m not even sure who came up with that nickname. I remember Steve used to . . . Steve!” His eyes flew open wide. He bolted upright. “Steve! I have to find him, he needs to know I’m alive! That I’m . . .” His voice trailed off. 

Natasha could see his distress, and got to her feet too. “Steve?”  
“My friend. My best friend. He was on the train when I fell. He tried to catch me . . .” James’s face contorted in pain. “He has to think I’m dead. I need to find a way to contact him.”

Natasha frowned. “There’s a town about a mile from here. A small one, someone may have a telephone there. Where is your friend now?”

“He had to have headed back to base. If I can put a call in at the town, I can reach him. We need to go!” James sprung for the cave exit, then stopped short. “I think I might need new clothes.” He looked down in disgust at his torn, filthy, bloodstained uniform.

Natasha chuckled. “We can find something in town.” If she was being completely honet with herself, she was nervous about James going to town. With him still being so new, and all those humans around . . . he might not be able to control his hunger if things got bad. Be she could see he would not be dissuaded.

“Lets go then!” Before Natasha could say anything else, James was outside the cave, looking at her expectantly. “Lead the way.”

Natasha nodded slowly, then started to run in the direction of the town, with James not far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Упрямая жопа= Stupid ass, at least according to google translate! xD


	7. Tragedy

The small Italian village was nestled just at the base of the mountains. People trailed about sullenly, their faces streaked with worry and hardship. The war had taken a toll on everyone, and the strain and fear was written plainly on the faces of the townspeople. That didn’t escape the notice of either of the two figures as the approached the main square. 

Earlier, they had come upon a clothesline full of laundry someone had carelessly left out to dry unattended. Bucky hadn’t hesitated to grab a heavy padded trench coat off of it, covering his bloodstained clothes and the stump of his left arm. Natasha had opted to grab and put on a dark green dress, much more in-fashion than the dark muslin she had previously worn. It was short and came just below her knees, with a full skirt and ruffled sleeves. It set off Natasha’s red hair to perfection, something that didn’t escape Bucky’s notice, although he did his best to push that out of his mind. 

His mind was preoccupied with how he would get in contact with Steve and the other commandoes. One of the more wealthy townspeople had to have a phone or a radio somewhere. He could call, or put out a signal to the SSR base a couple of miles from where they were. He had to let them know he was alive. Well . . . alive in a sense. Bucky didn’t know how he would even begin to explain to Steve or anyone else what had happened, or what he now was. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter, that they would understand, maybe even Stark could find a way to reverse it somehow. But the worry scratched at his chest.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sounds and smells of the town. As he and Natasha got closer, the smell hit him: the scent of blood from the dozens of people milling around the main square, combining into a warm, delicious aroma. Their heartbeats echoed in his ears, loud and overwhelming. 

It stopped Bucky in his tracks for a moment. His stomach rumbled, and he felt his fangs start to slide out from his gums. Visions of a day ago flashed through his mind: killing those HYDRA agents, sinking his teeth into them, the way they tasted . . .

Bucky swallowed, clenching his teeth hard to try to force his fangs back into his gums. He had to ignore it, for the sake of the people here. He couldn’t hurt anyone here, they were innocent. He felt Natasha’s hand on his shoulder. Bucky turned and stared into her worried eyes. 

“I’m fine,” he said quickly before she could speak. “I can ignore it. Lets go.” His words didn’t make Natasha look any less worried, but she nodded silently. 

“I know this place, follow me,” She said as she took the lead, weaving through people and the narrow cobblestone streets. Bucky didn’t like to think about what she meant by that, or how many people had disappeared from these same, narrow streets. 

Before, the streets had been packed with animals as well as people: cats,dogs, and even the occasional horse and buggy. But as they passed, they disappeared. It was as though they could sense that something wasn’t right about them. A dog chained outside a building bared it’s teeth and snarled at them as they passed, the hairs on it’s neck raised. Cats hissed and disappeared into alleyways, their tails puffed. A part of Bucky found that funny. People dismissed animal behavior instantly, chocking it up to a dumb animal. They had no clue just how perceptive animals were, when humans ignored the danger that was right under their noses. 

Bucky didn’t focus on that for long though. He was too busy trying to keep the urges in check. When a man stopped them to try and get them to look at the fruits and vegetables he had for sale, shoving his warm body close with his hands holding the basket, Bucky’s eyes immediately found the pulse points at the man’s throat. They pulsed obscenely, making his fangs ache. His stomach ached with emptiness, and the screaming urge to feed grew even more insistent. It was like someone was waving a feast in front of him that he wasn’t allowed to eat. Bucky bit his lip hard and desperately tried to push the hunger away, breathing through his mouth so he wouldn’t smell the blood. 

“Is there a way to contact anyone in this area?” He heard Natasha say to the man, speaking flawless Italian. 

The man frowned, clearly disappointed in the lack of business he was getting from them. “There’s a payphone just outside city hall, a few blocks that way.”

“Thank you.” Natasha grasped Bucky’s hand tightly in hers and moved him along, past the man and further down the road.

Bucky swallowed, then took a deep breath. It was easier to think now that the man wasn’t nearby, although the hunger was still there. “Thanks.”

“It gets easier,” Natasha said, looking up at him. “It’s only so overwhelming because you’re new. You need to feed more often.”

Bucky gave a husky laugh. “You learned this from experience?” 

Natasha shrugged. “It was the same for me, when I was new. Without my creator, I would have called too much attention to myself and been destroyed. He taught me how to hunt, to fend for myself.”

“Where’s your creator now?”

Natasha’s face darkened. “The man said the telephone was near here.” She pointed to the unmistakable sight of the phone box outside of a large building: the city hall. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief and rushed to it, opening the door and starting to fiddle with the buttons. “If I can put in a call to the base a few miles from here, Steve and the commandoes will be able to get here in a few hours.”

Natasha was eyeing the phone with curiosity, as though she wasn’t used to the sight of it. “And Steve is your friend?”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, the punk and I grew up together. Saved his ass more than times than I can count. And then I joined the army and he . . . well he did something really stupid, and next thing I know he was rescuing me from a HYDRA base. People around here know him as Captain America. Wears a red white and blue outfit, with the shield and everything.”

After a few rings, and a brief chat with the operator, there was no connection. Bucky growled in frustration, and slammed the phone back into place. “There has to be a problem with the connection. We can try again in a few minutes, or ask if there’s a problem with the phone’s here . . . Natasha?”

Natasha was frowning, and staring at a newspaper stand across the street from them. “James . . .”

Bucky followed her eyes to the newspaper stand, and the headline the papers were advertising. Although his Italian was rusty, he could read it plain as day. A picture of Steve in his uniform, and a headline that read: Captain America Crashes a Plane into the Ice over the Altlantic. Presumed Dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things might get a little angsty in the next chapter ;)


	8. What I've Become

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE DELAY EVERYONE. I had finals and then I was in Germany for the holidays and then I had to do my buckynat secret santa prompt and . . . it got away from me lol. But here I am with a brand new chapter! WARNING: This chapter will be bringing all the ANGST and some brief mention of suicide, so be warned!!

“James . . .”

Natasha’s voice floated to his ears, but Bucky didn’t answer. The picture of Steve was taken at one of his USO tours. He was dressed in his uniform, grinning from ear to ear. Bucky remembered when that photo was taken. He was only steps behind Steve, keeping a lookout over his back in case any danger should arrive. That was his job, staying out of sight, protecting Steve. And now . . .

Bucky was aware that his hands were shaking. He quickly scanned the rest of the article: How Steve was attempting to stop some kind of HYDRA master plan. How the plane had gone down in the ice and collapsed into pieces, most likely killing everyone who could’ve been on board. Steve was dead. For a second, he thought he would be sick.

He’s dead.  
I should’ve been there.

I should’ve protected him. Like I protected him all those years in Brooklyn and the war and . . . he needed me and I wan’t there.

“James.” Natasha’s hand was resting on his shouder, making him flinch. “James, I . . . I am very sorry about your friend, but we need to leave. We need to hunt, and then we have to-“

At the word “hunt,” Bucky’s mind overflowed with anger and grief. “You!” He spun around at her, his lips pulling back from his teeth. “You did this! You turned me into a-“ his breath caught as tears began to run from his eyes. “Steve’s dead! I should’ve been there with him! I should be with him now!” His voice broke. “But you turned me into this!”

Natasha had taken a few steps back, both her hands out in front of her as though to plead with him, or shield herself from an attack. Her eyes were wide with alarm, casting apprehensive glances at the cobblestone streets around them, and Bucky suddenly understood why. His fangs had extended fully in his anger, and were now on full view for any passerby who happened to glance in their direction. But Bucky was too mad with grief to care. 

Natasha took a few steps toward him and reached out her hand. “James please-“

“Don’t touch me!” He snarled at her, his remaining hand clenched so tightly he thought his fingernails would break the skin beneath. “Stay the fuck away from me! I never want to see you again, or any other monster like you!” Then he turned and fled. 

He could hear Natasha desperately calling his name after him, but all he could think of was that his best friend was dead and that he should be as well. He ignored everything else around him, letting his legs push him with his new, inhuman speed so that in a matter of minutes the village had begun to fade away behind him.

——————————————————————-

Natasha watched James leave, knowing there was no use in following him. She breathed in short, shallow breaths, and her chest hitched every time she drew air into her lungs. His words pounded in her head, and with each passing moment she realized more and ore that he had been right.

Why did I do this to him? It’s my fault, all my fault.

She should have drained him dry up in those mountains. He didn’t deserve this life. Natasha wasn’t even sure she had deserved it. But here she was, still here, and still a monster. A thing who hated the sunlight and drained blood to survive. Maybe she had been denying it all these years. Maybe that’s why she stayed away from humans. Maybe having the company of things other than herself in the woods reminded her of what she really was.

Natasha realized there were tears running down her cheeks. She hurriedly brushed them away and looked back in the direction James had gone. What was he planning to do now? Strike out on his own? Destroy himself? There were very few ways in which her kind could be killed. The stake-through-the-heart stories were nonsense. Natasha supposed if one was determined enough, they could burn themselves alive, or starve themselves to death. Neither option was without pain.

Natasha’s chest tightened as she imagined James pursuing those options, burning or starving alone. She realized with a jolt that this was the same feeling she experienced on the mountain, as she stood over his bloody and mangled body. She didn’t want him to die. When she found him, it rekindled what little part of her that made her feel human. She couldn’t let that fade away.

Natasha wiped the last few tears from her eyes and stared into the widow of a nearby shop. To any passerby, she looked like another beautiful woman. Most people would fail to notice her too-white porcelain skin or her sharp eyes until it was too late. She hadn’t really considered her own reflection in years. But she realized that underneath all of what she had become, something of her former self still lurked. The part that James had awakened.

She had to find him. She had to save him. 

But first, she needed to feed. It would be dawn in a few hours, and travel would be more dangerous. She needed nourishment if she was going to get any headway before then. 

Luck was on her side in this regard. A local bar had just closed, and it’s clientele of drunks were currently stumbling out of the building on their way home. Natasha followed one who looked particularly intoxicated until he turned a corner into an unoccupied alley.

She appeared in front of him, a tantalizing smile on her face, al traces of sadness or regret gone. The man blinked a few times, as though to confirm that she was real, and then grabbed her arm, leaning in close so she could smell the whiskey and rot on his breath. “Hello love,” he slurred. “Fancy a dance with me?” Natasha smiled sweetly and leaned in close, making the man think she was giving him a kiss or whispering in his ear.

She left the man’s body propped up against the stone wall of the alley. Come morning, the townspeople would think he was merely an old bum who’d died of too much to drink. Natasha took a moment to wipe the man’s blood from her face. She took a deep breath before she headed in the direction James had gone. She hoped he hadn’t gotten far.


	9. The Barn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! I've been studying abroad and have been too busy with travel/schoolwork to write much, but I'm glad I was able to get this chapter done, and during buckynat week on tumblr no less!! Be warned, this chapter contains excessive amounts of ANGST. Also trigger warning for animal death if you get upset by that kind of stuff. It's not too graphic I promise! Boy, Bucky is being a stubborn idiot (as usual). Hopefully Nat can help him in the next few chapters!

Bucky wasn’t sure how long he would be able to run before his legs finally gave out. It felt like hours, as the village became a faint speck on the horizon behind him and more urban areas faded into rural farmland. Then the sun rose, and he found he couldn’t go on.

It wasn’t that the sun burned his skin. But his eyes, more accustomed now to the dark, ached horribly with the brightness. After an hour in it’s rays, he could feel himself weakening, his limbs slowing, his eyes getting heavy. Grief could no longer keep him going. He noticed the open doors of a barn belonging to a tiny, dilapidated farm and ducked inside.

Other than an old cow and a few scrawny chickens, the barn was empty. Most likely soldiers had been through here and plundered everything for their own use. Exhausted, Bucky slumped down against one of the walls. 

Without anything to distract him, all the grief and rage hit him full force. Steve was dead. His best friend, whom he’d looked out for and protected since childhood, was gone. And he was still here, not dead at the bottom of the mountain where he fell, but turned into a monster. Bucky curled up in the darkest corner of the barn, away from any sunlight that peeked through the walls, and put his head in his hands. He should be dead. There was nothing left for him now. No Steve, no home, not even Natasha’s company, which he had completely driven away. The look on her face before he had run away, as he called her a monster, flashed through his mind. Her eyes were filled with guilt, grief, sadness. Bucky felt a pang of guilt tug him at the memory, but he quickly pushed it away. Maybe she thought turing him was the right thing to do. But there was nothing for him now.

Even as night fell, Bucky stayed in the barn, too wracked with grief and anger to move. The sun rose, and fell again, and still he didn’t move. Rain pounded on the roof and slipped though holes in the wood, dampening his clothes. Bucky still sat in his corner, a silent lump of misery and grief.

He was hungry. Deeply, overwhelmingly, ravenously hungry. It clawed at him relentlessly, making Bucky clench his jaw and curl further in on himself. He dozed off once, exhausted, and dreamed of rivers of blood, flowing from wounds, from throats . . . the taste of it, warm and tangy on his tongue. He woke up with his mouth watering and his stomach growling, and he fell back against the wall, sickened with himself, with everything. 

How hard would it be to starve himself to death? Or to end it some other way? Bucky’s thoughts plunged deeper and deeper as the hours wore on. He didn’t deserve to live in this world now, as a monster and with Steve gone. He could end it . . . with a stake to the heart, he thought with a rueful smile. One well-placed sharp board from the crumbling barn would do the trick. He could . . . 

Eventually, hunger and instinct banished those thoughts from his mind. He was shaking, his entire body screaming for sustenance, the ache in his stomach so intense he could barely endure it any longer. If anyone had the misfortune of passing by the barn, Bucky was sure he’d attack without the slightest hesitation, and that thought terrified him. 

Across the barn, the cow munched on a mouthful of hay, eyeing Bucky with a dubious stare. Bucky stared back. His eye caught sight of the pulse point at the cow’s throat, and imagined the thick blood running through it’s veins.

The cow gave a cry as Bucky’s teeth sliced through it’s throat, both his hands gripping the cow’s collar to keep it from running. As soon as Bucky tasted it’s blood he nearly started back in disgust. It tasted foul and rancid, nothing like the taste of the HYDRA agents. He vaguely remember Natasha saying how disgusting animal blood was, but he was so desperately hungry that he kept gulping it down, trying not to gag at the taste. 

He drank until the cow’s body slumped against the floor of the barn, and got to his feet. For a few blissful moments his hunger felt stated, but suddenly he was seized with violent nausea and he was on the ground retching, retching out all the blood he had previously drank into a black bile on the floor. It felt like he would vomit his insides up and be nothing but a hollowed-out shell. He retched and retched until there was nothing left inside him. 

Bucky wanted to scream out his frustration and agony, but the previous moments made him too weak to do little more than curl up on the ground again, beside the carcass of the cow and the mess he had made in the hay. The hunger was back, stronger than ever, tearing at him again, and his whole body was shaking violently. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how long he could go on like this before it was finally over. 

The sound of footsteps outside and the smell made him eyes snap open.

No. No, no, no, no.

A male voice rose from outside, “Is someone there? There’s no use being here, there’s nothing left to steal!” 

No, please. Go away.

There was banging at the barn door as whoever was outside began unlocking it. He was close enough that Bucky could smell his blood, hear the steady beat of his pulse. So good, so good, and he was so hungry. Food, his body was screaming at him. There was food right there and if he could just take it . . .

Bucky managed to get to his feet. He wanted to run, or scream at the man to run, but he couldn’t make his lips form the words. He realized there was saliva dripping down his chin.

No, no, no.

The barn door swung open, revealing a thin man in his fifties, clearly the owner of the farm. Bucky could see a large vein running down his neck, a scab covering the skin where he had cut himself shaving.

Yes. 

The man’s eyes widened as he took in the disheveled and crazed-looking figure in front of him. “What the hell-“

Bucky was on top of him before the man could scream. The rational part of him was still screaming, somewhere in his mind. Maybe that was the part of him that made him let out a strangled “I’m sorry,” before sinking his teeth into the man’s throat. The man’s struggles grew weaker as Bucky drank in an eager rush, dizzy with the pleasure of much-needed sustenance entering his system. It felt good, so good.

The man let out a moan and Bucky’s eyes snapped open again. Wait, no! Bucky pulled back with a gasp, blood still running down his chin. The man below him was deathly pale, breathing shallowly, but still alive. What had he done?

Relief that the man was still alive quickly gave way to horror as Bucky took in what had just happened: the man, him losing control, the evidence of decay and death all around the barn. Quietly, so Bucky wasn’t sure if he had really spoken, he whispered, “What have I done?”

“You made a mistake, James.”  
Bucky looked up to see Natasha standing in the doorway. Her eyes were wide as she took in the scene, and her expression was one of a sad empathy. “Let’s hope I can help you correct it.”


	10. A Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 CHAPTERS GUYS!!! Wow, it feels so good to post this! I want to thank everyone who's been reading, reblogging the links on tumblr, and of course commenting!!! Seriously guys, comment!! They make my day!!

The farmer was still moaning where he lay on the floor of the barn. James had slumped down onto his knees beside the body, his face still dripping with the man’s blood. His face was a mask of horror. 

Natasha knelt beside the man. His heart beat weakly, but his pulse was steady. He would most likely live. James must have stopped before the blood loss became too extreme. He must still be hungry, Natasha thought ruefully.

Beside her, James croaked out, “I didn’t mean to . . . I couldn’t control it . . .”

Natasha looked at him. “He’ll live, James. But you can’t go on like this. You were foolish, trying to go that long without feeding.”

“What choice did I have?” James was glaring at her. 

Natasha turned to him, exasperated. “Do you think I enjoy killing?” She asked him bluntly, a sharp edge in her voice. “Do you think I like knowing that these people who I drain to live have lives, families of their own? That as much as I can look for bad men to drain there will always be a time when I have to take someone innocent? I take life out of necessity, the same way a wolf hunts or a human slaughters cattle. All our kind does. Call me a monster if you wish, James, but I will not let you destroy yourself over this guilt.” Her voice cracked. 

James stared at her. The man’s pulse still beat steadily. Natasha took a deep breath. “If you wish, I can carry him to the house.” 

Wordlessly, James nodded. Natasha picked up the man’s limp body and carried him towards the farmhouse, leaving James in the barn. It was easy enough to kick down the door and stretch the man out on the raggedy sofa. With luck, the man would wake up and believe what had happened to be a bad dream. The wounds on his neck would heal quickly. 

For a minute, Natasha stood in the main room of the house, steeling her composure. She took a deep breath, letting it whistle out through her nostrils, before walking back to the barn. 

When she entered, she saw that James hadn’t moved. He still sat on the barn floor, wiping his face with the sleeve of his good arm. While the shock was fading from his face, it was being replaced by a range of other emotions, none of them pleasant. Natasha looked at him for a moment, then wordlessly she walked over and sat beside him. She resisted the urge to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“Why did you save me?” James whispered, his voice hoarse.

Natasha hesitated, and after a pause she allowed herself to speak honestly. “Because there was something about you that made me want to save you. And maybe . . . I was tired of being by myself.” She swallowed.   
James was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry . . . about everything I said earlier. You’ve been kind to me, but I don’t know what to do anymore. About this, about what I am . . .”

And suddenly James’s head was on her shoulder and he was crying, the tears rolling down his cheeks and staining the fabric of Natasha’s dress. He wept about the friend that he’d lost, the war, the hunger that he couldn’t control. Instinctively, Natasha let her arms wrap around the man’s heaving shoulders as he cried. Something inside her began to uncurl at this action, a kind of warmth at being able to provide comfort to someone after all these years. 

When James’s sobs had quieted to shaky breaths, Natasha looked at him. “James, we need to leave soon. We shouldn’t be here when that man wakes up.” She inclined her head towards the barn.

James straightened up, and looked to where his tears had stained her dress. If there was any color to his cheeks, he would have been blushing in that moment, and Natasha suppressed a smile. 

“James . . . if you really don’t want to stay with me, then I understand.” Natasha’s throat tightened as she said the words.

James’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “I . . . I don’t know what I want.” 

“I didn’t know what to do either, when I was first turned.” The words came spilling out of Natasha before she could stop them. “My creator showed me what to do, how to live but . . .” She gritted her teeth. “He was cruel to me. He turned me for his own selfish reasons. Eventually I escaped. And now I’ve done the same thing to you-“

“No.” She was aware that James had taken her hand. He was biting his lip. “it’s not the same. I . . . I was dying. I can tell you did what you thought was right. I’m sorry . . . you’re not your creator, whoever he was.”

Natasha swallowed. In the distance, a wolf howled. The wind was picking up, whistling through the cracks in the decrepit barn. It would be getting dark soon, and the more time passed, the more in danger they were of the man waking up and discovering them yet again. 

“You did say we should get moving,” James said in the low voice, looking at her.

Natasha spirit lightened as she heard his confirmation that he would stay, if only for a little while. She stood up and held out her hand to help James up. “I know of a place we can go. I haven’t been there for awhile but . . . there are members of our kind there that could shelter us for awhile. It is near the border to France.”

She could see James mulling this over, especially when she uttered the words “more of our kind.” But he inclined his head forward at her. “Lead the way.”

With them both moving at their full speed, the journey still took most of the night. By the early hours of the morning, the two of them were approaching their destination: a building that lay in the outskirts of a town near the Italian/French border. It was rather large in size, painted with red and black paint, and stylish-looking in contrast to the other buildings around it that had fallen into disrepair. 

They approached the door. Natasha, as tumultuous as her feelings were about being back here, was glad for a reprieve. Although she didn’t tire easily, she was feeling the weight of the previous two days. She was also hungry too, but she didn’t dare mention that to James during their journey in the night. She knew that she wouldn’t convince him to hunt again so soon after what happened. She would convince him at some point, but not now. 

“We’re here,” She said to James as one of her hands reached up to open the door.

She found herself tracing the outside of the sign hung on the entrance, exquisitely carved in mahogany and printed with red letters, which spelled out the name of the place: The Red Room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we're gonna be seeing some familiar faces! If you read Black Widow comics you'll know who they are! ;)


	11. Red Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I did NOT expect to get done with this chapter as quickly as I did but I was on a roll these last couple days so here's chapter 11!!! :D This will weave in a lot of Nat's comic book mythos but I've taken a ton of liberties with it. This is, after all, an AU!

Bucky didn’t know what to expect when Natasha pushed open the door of “The Red Room,” as the sign proclaimed. He half-expected to see a room designed with the interior of a time long passed, like Victorian or earlier. Even more outrageously, he imagined stone steps descending down to a tomb of the undead, not unlike that Dracula movie he and Steve had watched when they were kids.

What he didn’t expect to see as Natasha pushed the door open was a typical-looking, if not exquisitely furnished, bar and lounge area, almost exactly like the ones he had visited with Steve and the Commandoes during their tours.

The place seemed to be empty as the two of them waked in. Large, plush armchairs were placed in front of a roaring fire, in addition to a few wooden tables and chairs nearby. The walls were hung with expensive wallpaper, but not adorned with pictures or paintings. An old-fashioned phonograph was playing classical music, a tune Bucky felt he vaguely recognized, but only from when he was a little kid. 

It was only when Bucky turned towards the large oak bar that he saw the young woman. She was standing behind the bar, wiping it down with a red cloth. Unlike Natasha, who didn’t seem to care much about what most women were wearing, this woman’s blond hair was cut short and styled in the fashion of the dames Bucky had taken dancing before the war. She also wore a blouse cut in the latest fashion. 

At the sound of them the woman looked up from her work, and upon seeing Natasha, her eyes widened and her mouth fell open in shock. That’s when Bucky saw her fangs. 

“Natalia!? Could it really be you?” Her voice was high, with a faint accent.

Natasha smiled, but Bucky could see that it didn’t reach her eyes. “Hello Yelena.”

At these words Yelena’s face broke into a wide grin as she stepped out from behind the bar. She glided over to them and wrapped her arms around Natasha, kissing her soundly on both cheeks as though they were old friends. Natasha, for her part, didn’t look like she felt the same way. 

“It is you! Mili Moi, it’s been too long! We all thought you’d forgot about us after all this time!” Yelena winked at Natasha before turning to Bucky, her blue eyes taking in his face, his clothes, his missing arm. “And who is this?”

Natasha cleared her throat. “This is James, my companion. He’s . . . fairly new. To our way of life.”

Bucky swallowed, unsure of how to respond. “Hello Ma’m”

“He’s handsome, if a bit rugged. You’ve chosen well, Natalia.” Yelena winked at her again before sweeping on of her hands towards the bar. “Please, sit! Make yourselves at home. You are hungry, no? Of course you are, you’ve had a long journey. This calls for a treat! Boy!”

Yelena snapped her fingers and a boy appeared out of a doorway opposite the bar. He looked to be only about ten years old. His skin was pale and he looked at Yelena with a sullen expression.

“Go to the cellar and fetch some of that French 1903!” The boy nodded and disappeared again. Bucky looked questioningly at Natasha, who was sitting stiff and rigid on the bar seat. Her expression was extremely conflicted, and Bucky looked away.

A few moments later the boy appeared again, this time carrying a tray with three wine glasses balanced on it. They were filled with a dark red liquid, and as soon as Bucky smelled it, he knew it couldn’t be wine. His stomach rolled over. 

Yelena smiled as she took a glass and handed one to Bucky. “I’ve been saving him for awhile. For something special.” 

Bucky swallowed thickly as he stared into the glass. Natasha looked over at him, concerned. His stomach growled, and he swallowed again. 

“You . . . you drink it, like this?” He asked Yelena.

She frowned, looking at him questioningly. “Yes, we sell by the glass here, usually. Is it not to your liking? You are more than welcome to go to the cellar and select your own if you-“

“No!” Natasha interjected as she reached for her own glass. “This is wonderful Yelena, thank you.”

Bucky looked down at the glass again. His stomach growled again, and finally his hunger won out and he lifted the glass to his lips. The blood flooded his tongue, still warm, and Bucky found he couldn’t stop himself from gulping down the rest in an eager rush, despite knowing where it had come from. He lowered the glass, licking his fangs.

“Quite a thirsty boy,” Yelena giggled, motioning for the boy to bring another glass.

“So you must tell me, Natalia,” Yelena said eagerly as the boy brought another round of glasses. “Where have you been all this time? We all wondered if you had disappeared to another continent. America, maybe, or perhaps you had returned to Russia.”

Natasha snorted. “Russia? After what the Bolsheviks have done to it? I would sooner drink pigs blood than return there.”

“Ah, but I do miss it sometimes.” Yelena’s eyes were wistful. “And have you heard? Now that the war is over, the Bolshoi Ballet is expected to be doing better than ever! Apparently these Communists are passionate patrons of the arts, who would have guessed? Of course I’m sure none of the dancers there now could equal you, Natalia. Do you remember how beautiful the theatre was? Ivan always said that there was none like it equal in the world-“

“Yes, Ivan.” Natasha had gone even more rigid in her seat. Her mouth opened slightly and Bucky could see her fangs starting to extend, as though she were on alert for an attack. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Ivan lately, Yelena?”

Yelena’s eyebrows went up. “Nyet, I thought you knew where he was? He disappeared shortly after you did. We had thought he had gone to join you, wherever you were. But if you don’t know where he is, then your guess is as good as mine.”

Natasha let out a breath, seeming to relax a little. Bucky wanted to ask who Ivan was, but the look on her face kept his mouth shut. “No, I have no idea. I was simply curious, that is all.”

The three of them continued to drink from the glasses, Yelena asking Natasha all sorts of questions about what she had been doing since they last saw each other, and Natasha answering as short as possible. Bucky, for his part, was more focused on draining the glasses of their contents, his hunger fully awakened and pushing the thoughts of where the blood had come from out of his mind. After about four glasses, he felt stated, and his eyelids started to droop as their long journey and being full caught up with him.

Natasha glanced at him. “Yelena, would it be possible for me and James to have a room for the night. We’ve had quite a long journey.” She sounded rather relieved to end the conversation.

“Oh, of course!” Yelena chirped, motioning for the boy to come forward. “You may have the best room we can offer. No less can we do for an old friend.” She grinned. “Boy, please show them to their suite-“

Just then the door banged open and two men entered, laughing boisterously. The light caught the gleam of their fangs. The two of them plopped down in the large armchairs and one of them called, “‘Lena! What do the two of us have to do to get a drink here?”

Yelena pouted. “Alexi, Leo, must you always disturb my peace and quiet? And when a friend is visiting too!”

As the men burst into noisy laughter again, Bucky and Natasha slipped away from the bar, the boy leading them down a long hallway towards their room. It was indeed a suite, with a large double-bed and the windows hung with large crimson velvet drapes that blocked out any sunlight. 

“This place is . . . interesting,” Bucky commented as the door shut behind them and they were alone. 

Natasha looked exhausted, and not in the mood to talk. “We should get some rest, James.”

James swallowed back the tide of questions he had, instead looking towards the bed. A twinge of embarrassment hit him as he realized they would be sharing it, but Natasha had already climbed into her side, so Bucky signed and climbed into his, positioning himself as much on his side as possible.

“Good morning, Natasha,” he said, his lips twitching into an ironic smile.

He thought he heard a laugh coming from her side of the bed, and he wanted to finally ask a question, but the combination of exhaustion and a full belly pulled a curtain of darkness over his eyes, and he was asleep in minutes.

————————————————————————————————-

As exhausted as Natasha was, she couldn’t make herself sleep. Her skin crawled at being back in this place, no matter how well-meaning Yelena was trying to be. It was dragging up too many memories, memories she had spent decades trying to forget.


	12. memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12!!! I really enjoyed writing the interaction between Nat and Yelena in this one! I tried to leave their relationship . . . up for interpretation ;)

Natalia was back on the Bolshoi stage, her slippered feet padding gracefully along the hard floor. The candles and gas-lamps illuminated the crowd in front of her as they breathlessly watched her dance. High above Natalia, the royal box glittered with gold and jewels where she knew the Tsar was watching, as entranced as any common person in the orchestra section.

Natalia was smiling, too engrossed in the music and dance to notice the dark figure as it came behind her. She barely had time to cry out as the figure grabbed her and dragged her down to the floor in front of everybody. She struggled helplessly, looking towards the crowd for help, but they looked just as frozen and mesmerized as when she had been dancing moments before. Natalia screamed as whoever was above her sank it’s teeth into her throat, spilling her blood onto the stage floor, letting it flow down to her feet, staining her ballet slippers . . .

Natasha awoke with a startled gasp, her hands digging into the silk sheets so hard that they ripped under her fingernails. Her fangs had extended in panic and had pierced her lower lip, making two thin streams of black blood flow down her chin. It took her a second to remember where she was, but that knowledge only made her skin crawl further. She took a deep breath and looked over at James. Thankfully, she had not woken him, for he had turned over on his side and was still sleeping soundly, his red lips slightly parted and a soft snore coming from his mouth. One glance at the curtains told her that the rays of the sun had recently faded away. She groaned and sat up, coming to the conclusion that she wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore. And she didn’t want to deal with her dream, and the terrors and memories that came with it.

Natasha padded silently down the hall into the main bar area. Yelena was already there. She was sitting in one of the armchairs, surveying the empty room and smoking a cigarette. Yelena raised an eyebrow as Natasha entered and sat in the chair opposite her. Wordlessly, Yelena took the pack of cigarettes from the table in front of her and held it out, offering one to Natasha.

Natasha gratefully took one, leaning in over the table so Yelena could light it for her. Her eyes closed as she took a long drag, letting the acrid smoke fill her dead lungs and exhale in a plume out from her ruby lips. Her eyes closed, desperately wishing the memories could leave her body and disappear as easily as the smoke dissipating into the air. 

“You seem tense,” Yelena observed, breaking the silence.

Natasha sighed. “A bad dream, nothing more.”

“Seems more than that.” Yelena stamped out the remnants of her cigarette in an ash tray, looking her in the eye. “You are . . . different. You left decades ago without a trace, and you never explained to me why. And now you return, a young fledgling on your arm.”

“You act like there was no reason I wanted to escape,” Natasha said bitterly.

Yelena blinked. “It didn’t seem so to me. You had friends, the Red Room was thriving-“

“Well, you seem to have taken over the business rather well, Yelena.” 

Yelena smiled. “Our clientele have been generous. Our kind need somewhere civilized to gather, forget about the unpleasantness of the world. State their hunger without all that unpleasant hunting-“

“Unpleasant?” Natasha interjected stabbing a finger toward the door that had yielded those wine glasses the night before. “I wouldn’t call what you do here extremely pleasant either, Yelena. Kidnapping humans and keeping them prisoner in the cellar, drugging them so they can’t move or speak. Draining them slowly, glass by glass-“

Yelena waved the accusation away as though it were a bad smell. “Would you rather I let them go to waste? They feel no pain, and the blood lasts longer when it’s still inside a living body.”

“At least when I hunt I kill them quickly,” Natasha whispered, anger creeping in her voice. “I don’t lure them with a honey-trap only to kill them slowly.”

“As a recall you used to do that exact thing, “ Yelena accused.

Natasha tensed. “Not anymore,” she hissed. “You know how much I hated it, every second of it? Need I remind you what he would have done to me if I’d refused? You were always the one who liked it.”

Yelena’s face was stony as she stared at her. Natasha could feel the tension in the air, their old rivalry so palpable that she could taste it. Then Yelena sighed and lit another cigarette.

“So, where have you been?”

Natasha looked away. “Far away, in the mountains. With the wolves.”

Yelena inclined her head towards the hallway. “And him?”

Natasha didn’t have to guess who Yelena was referring to. “I found him gravely injured. There was no other way to save his life.”

“So you are his sire?”

“Yes.” Natasha took another drag from her cigarette. 

“You certainly have left this life behind,” Yelena smirked, but her eyes held a spark of sadness. “What are you going to do? I don’t have experience, but many have told me the . . . difficulties when it comes to siring a newborn. Many would have abandoned him by now.”

Natasha bristled. “That will not happen.”

“Maybe not, but you still have little knowledge and no plan. You are more than welcome to stay here until-“

“No.” Natasha stood up abruptly, putting out her cigarette. “It was a mistake coming here in the first place, the memories are too painful. James and I will leave by the end of the night.”

“Natasha, wait!” Yelena pleaded as she began to leave. “Let there be peace between us! At least eat before you-“

“I won’t drink another drop of that tortured blood!” Natasha hissed as she swept out of the room.

——————————————————————————————-

Bucky opened his eyes, and it took a few minutes to remember where he was. He yawned, stretching out his arms and legs. He’d almost forgotten what it was like, sleeping in a bed. In the army he’d made do with linen cots and best, the hard ground at worst. He’d forgotten the feeling of a soft mattress beneath his body or silk sheets on his skin. Come to think of it, he didn’t think he’d ever had silk sheets.

He sat up, and noticed with a frown that Natasha wasn’t in the room, her side of the bed empty. A flash of embarrassment bloomed in his gut as he remembered how they had shared the bed that day. He tried to push it aside. It was childish thinking like that.

It was then that he noticed the small linen bag on the armchair across the room. He’d seen it before, Natasha always carried it around with her. It had fallen slightly open, revealing a swath of pale-pink fabric. 

Cautiously, Bucky approached the bag, gently holding the opening higher for a better look. He realized with a start that they were ballet slippers, old and worn. He suddenly remembered Yelena from the previous night, chattering about Natasha and dancing. The thought of her being a dancer made his breath catch. The gracefulness of her steps, they way she moved . . . how could he not have seen it before?

He slowly pulled one of the slippers out further to examine it better. They looked decades old, maybe more. And as he peered closer, his eyes caught a dark stain on the lower block of the shoe. Was that . . . blood?

He raised his head as his ears caught movement at the door. Quickly he slid the shoe back. 

Natasha glided into the room, her face pained and like a storm cloud. 

“We’re leaving, James.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Natasha, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry James, I shouldn’t have brought us here. This place is dirty. Full of secrets. We will go somewhere else.”

“Where exactly?”

Natasha didn’t answer. Without thinking, Bucky crossed the distance between the, and took hold of Natasha’s wrist.

“Natasha?”

Her eyes were squeezed shut. When she opened her eyes to gaze up at him, they were sad and pleading. “James, please?”

Bucky wanted to press her for answers: what secrets, what happened to her that she was so desperate to keep hiding? But instead he took a deep breath and nodded. 

As they went through the carved doors of the Red Room, Natasha desperately trying to avoid Yelena’s sad gaze, Bucky swore he heard a low-pitched moan coming from the cellar.


	13. Feeding and Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good thing about not having a ton to do this summer is that I can update fairly frequently! :D Anyway this chapter is a bit longer than usual that's 'cause I had so much fun writing it! I also went ahead and changed the rating to mature, because I've got some stuff planned for future chapters. Also the slow burn becomes a little less slow heheh ;)

They’d spent the night walking, to where Bucky wasn’t sure. Since they’d left the Red Room, Natasha had been silent and un-reachable. Well, more than she usually was. Any attempt by him to try to probe at what was bothering her was met with rebuffs and glares. Finally Bucky had settled into a pace slightly behind her, annoyed but deciding it was better to wait for Natasha to speak with him rather than force it out of her. If she ever decided to open up.

Bucky had bigger problems to worry about, though. He was hungry. It had started subtly enough: a dull ache deep in his stomach, easy to ignore. But as the hours passed, the ache grew into a roaring, tearing emptiness that was impossible to brush aside. It made him groan and clutch his stomach, and Natasha turned to face him.

Her eyes widened slightly as she realized. “James, I’m so sorry. We should have stopped to feed earlier, I was . . . preoccupied.”

“I noticed,” Bucky gritted his teeth. “Well, it’s not like killing someone is something I’ve been very eager to repeat.”

Natasha walked over and took his hand in hers, squeezing it lightly. “Will you be alright this time?” Her eyes looked at him steadily.

Bucky gave her a weak smile, trying to hide the turmoil behind his eyes. “Not like I have a choice, right?”

It didn’t take long for them to find the main road to the nearest town. A rather bustling village, settled into the hills. Despite the late hour, the streets still teemed with people: drunks and showgirls spilling out of taverns and bars, stumbling and laughing, telling slurred jokes. 

It was frightening, how easily Bucky’s instinct took over. Once he caught sight of the people, heard all the heartbeats and smelled the blood (and oh god did it smell good . . .), he couldn’t stop his fangs sliding out of his gums, sniffing the air hungrily and licking his lips. He probably would have gone for the first person he saw if Natasha hadn’t put a restraining hand on his arm. 

“Not here. Come with me,” Natasha whispered as she gently steered him into the nearest tavern. It was dingy and run-down, but packed with people, most of whom were too drunk to notice the newcomers stepping in. 

“Find someone, but feed someplace quiet. We can’t let humans see us,” Natasha instructed quietly, blue eyes scanning the area around them.

Bucky nodded, and watched as Natasha began to thread her way through the crowd. Then he looked around the bar himself. He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to reign in his hunger enough so that he could focus. The heartbeats of everyone in the room swelled to a loud crescendo in his ears. But as Bucky concentrated harder, he found to his amazement that he could single out specific heartbeats. Someone’s heart was beating rhythmically slow, another’s pulsing fast. One beat steadily but weakly, occasionally sputtering, indicating an older person. As Bucky inhaled, he realized he could also smell the difference on people as well. One man near him smelled sickly sweet, reeking of the cheap alcohol that rushed through his veins. Another woman smelled strongly of expensive perfume, which did little to disguise the sour smell of her blood. 

Bucky was so fascinated by his new senses, he almost didn’t react when a warm hand settled on his shoulder. He turned and faced a woman wearing a piecrust of makeup: cheeks red and caked with rouge, lips lined in cheap lipstick, and eyelashes smothered in mascara. She may have had a pretty face buried under all that, but it was impossible to tell. She gave Bucky what looked like an attempt at an alluring smile, raising her shoulders slightly to accentuate the low-cut bust of her dress. 

“You alright, mister?” She spoke with a thick french accent.

Bucky blinked, and his hunger came rushing back like a tidal wave. His stomach snarled, low and insistent. 

“No.”

The woman’s smile widened. “You lonely?”

“Yes.” Bucky had to struggle to keep himself from panting. 

The woman reached up to touch the sleeve where his left arm used to be. “A vet, huh? You did much for my country sir. That deserves a special rate. You come with me now, I charge you half-off. Just for you!”

Bucky let the woman take his hand and lead him through the bar. As they were heading towards the back, he caught a glimpse of Natasha’s fiery hair as the intoxicated crowd parted. She had settled next to a gentleman at the far end of the bar. Her face wore a dazzling smile as she rose and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, as if to steer him to somewhere quieter. Watching this, Bucky felt a red-hot flash of something, but his mind was too dulled by hunger to discern what it was.

The woman led him to a room at the back of the bar. Inside it looked run-down and dirty, with a ramshackle bed and clothes strewn about the floor. The noise from the bar had faded into a faint hum, implying that it was unlikely for anyone to disturb them. 

The woman locked the door behind them, turning and giving Bucky another smile. “I charge you after. Sit on the bed, please.” 

Deep inside him that voice was shouting again, shouting at him to run, but he couldn’t. For once he understood what Natasha had said to him: as much as he hated it, necessity always won out. And right now, feeding was very, very necessary. 

Instead of sitting on the bed as instructed, Bucky crossed the room to the woman faster than was humanely possible. He heard her giggle as his good arm went around her waist, holding her firmly. He moaned as he pressed his lips to her throat, running his tongue along the steady beats of her pulse. His stomach snarled again.

The woman laughed. “Eager are we? well I can certainly help fix tha-“

Her words died with a tiny squeak as Bucky sank his fangs into her throat. Once again, Bucky felt that mad rush that came with feeding, like he felt with the HYDRA agents and the man in the barn. Gulping down the blood in a eager rush, the relief that came as the woman ran dry and the hunger was finally satisfied, leaving a peaceful fullness where just minutes earlier it had felt like his gut was clawing it’s way out of his body.

He let out a breath as his fangs retracted and he lowered the woman’s body to the ground. Her face wore an expression of surprised shock, which was easier than if it had been set in a mask of horror. Still, now that the hunger wasn’t driving him, Bucky felt a surge of guilt as he looked at her. He realized, as a lump of sorrow formed in his throat, that this would probably never go away, that he would feel this same shame every time he needed to feed.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

“James?” Natasha’s voice floated in.

He opened the door. Natasha had a few flecks of blood at the corners of her mouth, but none on her clothes. Bucky hadn’t been as lucky, as there were a few dark-red stains on his shirt. But he was altogether cleaner then he had been after his previous feedings. He was learning, he thought ruefully.

Natasha glanced at the body at his feet, and Bucky thought he saw a flash of remorse pass over her face. Then she looked up at him. “We should go.”

Bucky nodded and followed her out of the bar, but not before he placed the body of the woman on her ratty bed and firmly closing the door behind him. They would be long gone before anyone found any trace that something was off.

The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon as they emerged back onto the street. They decided that it wouldn’t be wise to sleep in the town because of their most recent kill. After about a half-hour of searching, Bucky located a small cave in the forest beyond. It was deep enough so that it was reasonably dark and protected from sunlight. As they both sank down onto the cave floor, Bucky looked at Natasha.

“What happened at the Red Room?”

Natasha’s eyes fluttered shut. Nearly a minute passed before she answered. “I . . . I did things. Cruel things. For the sake of cruelty. For so long I’ve tried to put it behind me, but . . .” 

“You told me that whoever made you made you do those things,” Bucky said gently.

“But it was still me!” Natasha gritted her teeth. “i still did those things and . . . I should have resisted! I should have-“

“No.” Bucky reached out to take her hand. “You can’t do that to yourself, you can’t-“

“You don’t know, James! You don’t know what I did!” Tears were coursing, unnoticed, down Natasha’s cheeks.

Without thinking, Bucky, already sitting close to her, brought himself closer and brought his good arm around her shoulder. He pressed his forehead to hers, their noses almost touching. 

“Don’t,” he said again, almost breathlessly. “Don’t do this.”

He had felt Natasha go rigid at the sudden contact, but after a second she melted into his touch. Neither of them moved, their foreheads still touching, their lips inches apart. Natasha’s eyes were closed, the tears no longer staining her cheeks.

“What was his name? Your creator?” Bucky murmured. 

It took almost a full minute for her to answer.

“Ivan,” she breathed, pressing the tip of her nose against his, her eyes still shut. “His name is Ivan.”

Neither of them spoke after that. Neither of them pulled away either. Bucky gazed at her, her red hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes shut and her face soft. Finally he realized what he had felt when he looked at her in the bar. Even in the dingy light of the cave, her lips crimson with the blood that stained both their faces, fangs visible between her parted lips. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivan is Nat's adopted father in the comics. He's also pretty evil and creepy. So y'know, I figured he'd be the most obvious choice to be Nat's creator.


	14. Imperial Majesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So, I debated whether or not to add a section to this chapter that went back to the main time of the fic, but decided I liked this better as a standalone chapter. I'll be taking several breaks in the main story in focus on Natasha's past, so let me know if you find the format at all confusing! I got to really stretch my historical fiction muscles when writing this chapter, and honestly, it was so much fun! :D

Russia, 1865

Natalia Romanova finished applying powdered rouge to her cheeks and began twisting her auburn hair into a thick bun at the top of her head. Outside her dressing room she could hear a frenzy of activity as the other dancers of the Bolshoi theatre chattered excitedly, finished applying makeup, and slipped into their final costumes. Normally, Natalia would have been among them, but she had just been promoted to principal dancer at the ballet, and so had been given the ornate dressing room reserved for the primas. Tonight was her first performance as the lead, and that she danced well took on even higher meaning considering her audience. The Tsar himself would be in attendance. 

“He is a great supporter of the arts, our Tsar Alexander,” Natalia’s instructor, Madame B, had whispered to her only a little while ago. “Dance well, and you will not only bring riches to this theatre, but to yourself as well. Show him what our great company is capable of.” 

Natalia willed her hands not to shake as she finished fixing her hair and brought them to rest in her lap. She gazed at herself in her vanity mirror, illuminated by candles: a slim, pretty woman of twenty-five, whose expression was trying it’s upmost to conceal her fear and nerves. Her stomach felt as though a million bats had taken flight and were searching for a way out. 

She heard the stage manager call that there was only ten minutes till the curtain rose. Hurriedly Natalia slipped on her costume: a tutu that flowed to her knees with a corset and a high neckline, made to resemble Russian military uniforms. Tonight’s Ballet was about the defeat of Napoleon’s French invasion, more than five decades ago. The Tsar was quite fond of military drills and patriotic themes. 

Last to go on were her ballet slippers, the soft pink satin concealing the harness of the block underneath. Natalia brought herself to stand on her toes as she dipped both her feet into the resin box, testing the fit and flexibility of the shoes. An ill-fitting or damaged pair of slippers could lead to disaster, especially tonight.

A knock at the door brought Natalia out of her thoughts. Before she had time to answer, the door burst open and Yelena sailed in in her tutu and slippers, a glowing smile on her face. “Natalia! You look spectacular! Oh, are you nervous? I can’t imagine, dancing the lead in front of our great Tsar!” She kissed Natalia soundly on both cheeks.

Yelena could act all she wanted, but Natalia couldn’t fail to notice the jealousy that darkened her old friends eyes. It didn’t surprise her. They had both been childhood friends at the orphanage, and had both been picked to live at the Bolshoi school of dance when they were ten, by the stern coaches who had examined them and the other orphan girls, testing their flexibility and prodding at their feet to check if they had the right arches in their feet. The two’s friendship had given way to a strong rivalry over who could dance the best, from training at the school, to joining the Bolshoi in the corps, becoming soloists, and finally the audition for who would be the prima. In fact, when it was announced that Natalia had gotten the coveted spot, she overheard Yelena remark to some of the other girls that she had only gotten the role because she shared a last name with the Tsar. “The Bolshoi wants to curry favor with our imperial majesty, so they cast a lesser dancer with a name that appeals to his ego!” Yelena had sniffed. Natalia had brushed the comment off. She very well would have felt the same resentment had Yelena been cast instead of her. As much as the two of them would snipe at each other, they both knew that their friendship ran deep enough to not really be affected by such things. 

“Come, curtain is in three minutes!” Yelena grabbed Natalia’s hand and steered her out of her dressing room, past the stage hands hoisting props up to the rafters, the dancers taking one last warm-up before the curtain rose. She imagined the gilded carriages pulling up outside the theatre, the Tsar and his entourage making their way up to the royal box. Soon the two girls reached the curtain. 

Yelena whispered another half-hearted congratulations into Natalia’s ear before she scurried off to join the other soloists. Natalia took a deep breath as she stared at the red velvet of the curtain. She could feel her heartbeat throbbing in every part of her body: her chest, her stomach, her feet. She stretched out on her toes again, giving her shoes one last test, and waited for the final call.

When the orchestra struck up and the curtain rose, Natalia was momentarily blinded by the thousands of candles that illuminated the Bolshoi theatre. For a brief flash she saw the gilded royal box high up in front of her. And then she was not thinking at all. Her feet glided through the steps as though they were second nature, as she twirled across the stage and raised her graceful arms high above her head towards the rafters of the theatre, pretending to be the great Russian general who defeated Napoleon and his imperial french. The corps and the soloists behind her formed her military as she took hold of a prop rifle and pretended to beat back the impending army. She could feel all eyes in the theatre on her as she floated on her toes, and heard the appreciative gasps as she preformed a series of impossibly high jumps. The feeling almost made her dizzy with pleasure. 

By the end, her costume was nearly soaked through with sweat. Her feet were throbbing and she was nearly panting with the exertion. But the crowd was ecstatic as she took her final bow. Not a single person remained in their seat as they clapped and shouted uproariously, continuing to do so even as the curtain fell. She hardly had time to react as she was surrounded by her fellow dancers, offering praise and congratulations. 

“You were wonderful!”

“I thought my heart would stop . . . really, truly a masterpiece!”

“The audience is already calling it more spectacular than the great coronation show a decade ago! You were meant to be a star of the Bolshoi!”

It was overwhelming. For a moment, Natalia, still coming down from the adrenaline of the performance, was worried she would faint.

But more was still to come. Madame B forced her way through the crowd and grabbed her by the arm. “Come,” she whispered in her ear. “To your room.” She practically pulled Natalia through the adoring crowd as they made it further backstage. Madame B flung the door to the dressing room open.

“Oh!” Natalia gasped in delight.

Every corner of the room was filled with bouquets of long-stemmed, crimson roses. There were enough to overflow the room: piled high on her vanity, across the chairs and the couch. The intoxicating aroma filled her nose, making her feel even more dizzy.

“From our Imperial Majesty,” Madame B beamed at her. “Rest darling, I will call for you later.”

When her teacher had withdrawn from the room, Natalia sat in front of her vanity and tried to catch her breath. She noticed a pitcher of water and a plate of fruit had been set out for her, which she partook of heartily, needing to replenish her energy. Then she began to unwrap her slippers, and winced. Her toes had started to bleed, nearly through the front of the shoes. Quickly she tossed the slippers aside and wrapped her feet in clean bandages, trying to ignore the pain. It was common enough after all, and she would not let such a minor injury ruin the triumph of this night.

“The Tsar! The Tsar!” 

Her head snapped up as she heard the call and the sound of thunderous footsteps approaching her dressing room. Hastily she stood and smoothed out her dress, glad that she hadn’t had the time to change out of her costume yet. Her heart began to pound as the footsteps grew closer and the door was flung open, allowing a multitude of resplendently-dressed nobles to enter the room. And at the front: the Tsar himself.

Natalia immediately dropped into her deepest curtsey at his feet, not daring to look up. “Your majesty,” she murmured, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Let me look at you.” She felt two strong hands grasp her shoulders and lift her up. She finally dared to look at the Tsar’s face. Tsar Alexander II was a tall, thin man, still handsome despite his age. He was dressed in a uniform that gleamed with brass and gold buttons, which shone in the light of the candles. His face wore a warm smile.

“My dear, you honor me and my court with such a lovely performance.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “Do you like the flowers?”

Natalia merely nodded, feeling her cheeks flush bright red with pleasure at his praise. That pleasure only increased when she looked past the Tsar to the other dancers outside trying to glimpse what was happening, and saw Yelena’s face, nearly green with jealousy. 

The Tsar lowered his arms, and turned to Madame B. “Such a talent does the Bolshoi great credit. Talent that merits an increase in funding. It is time that Russian ballet takes it’s place on the world stage. A woman such as this could be the one to accomplish this.” He turned to his court, a huge grin on his face. “And she is a Romanoff to boot!” This earned a round of appreciative laughs. 

The Tsar turned back to Natalia. “Make your motherland proud, my dear.” His eyes sparkled.

“Of course, my Tsar,” Natalia managed to say. He laughed again and turned to the people behind him. “Friends, greet the star!”

Natalia was then bombarded by a swath of glittering courtiers grasping her hand and exclaiming congratulations and praise. Her face felt like it would split open with the force of her smile. She had never been this giddy in her life, despite her exhaustion and the pain in her feet. 

Someone who had been at the back of the crowd approached her. The first thing Natalia was conscious of was the massive ring on his left hand. It held a ruby almost the size of a small egg, surrounded by smaller diamonds. He was an older man, with a large build. His had a large black mustache and was wearing a similar uniform to the Tsar’s, indicating that he was a person on high rank. Natalia couldn’t explain it, but there was something about him that made her uneasy. His mouth opened in a wide smile, revealing a set of unnaturally white teeth. Natalia forced herself not to flinch when he grasped her hand. His touch was so cold!

“Ah Natalia!” The Tsar laughed. “You’ve met my friend Ivan! Ivan Pietrovich!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few historical facts for everyone:
> 
> 1\. Tsar Alexander II ruled Russia from 1856 until his assassination in 1588. His most famous accomplishment is trying to introduce liberal reforms in Russia, most notably the freeing of the serfs in 1861.
> 
> 2\. Ballet in 1865 had evolved immensely since the 1830's with the introduction of pointe shoes and pointe work (dancing on your tiptoes). Russian Ballet was not nearly as admired as it is today, in fact France and Italy were more well-known for having fantastic ballets.
> 
> 3\. The coronation performance I briefly referred to was the show put on by the Bolshoi theatre for the coronation of Tsar Alexander II in 1856. It was the Bolshoi's first show since re-opening after a fire destroyed the old theatre. It was this show that began to cement the Bolshoi theatre as a Russian Imperial institution, one that would lead to more growth under the future Tsar's and immense world renown under the Soviets.
> 
> 4\. As far as I know, there is no Ballet about the defeat of Napoleon. I made that up lol.


	15. Next Moves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two words: MUTUAL PINING. And dark things are looming ahead . . .

Bucky must have fallen asleep eventually, because when he woke the opening of the cave was illuminated orange with the sunset. He blinked, squinting at it, annoyed that even that subtle amount of light was enough to hurt his eyes. When he turned away from it, he almost bumped into Natasha’s sleeping form.

She was curled up on the ground only inches from him, her eyes closed and her breathing soft and even. The events of the previous morning rushed back into Bucky’s mind: holding her as she cried, pressing his forehead to hers, finally easing her onto the ground when he realized she had fallen asleep in his arms. Her face, no longer creased with worry or regret, now looked impossibly young. Was this how she looked when she was human? Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut, reflecting on this and what her creator, this Ivan, could have done to take this away from her.   
She hadn’t disclosed any more information about him except for his name. 

Bucky sighed and pulled himself up into a sitting position, looking around the cave. His mind began to turn as he contemplated what they were going to do next. It was funny, almost all of his life he had had some goal in mind, some endgame he needed to achieve. During the Depression, it was making sure him and Steve had food to eat and a roof over their heads. During basic training, it was becoming a master with his rifle. And during the war, it was about staying alive and protecting Steve and the commandoes. Now there was nothing, no goal, nothing specific to achieve and nowhere specific to go. Someone else might have found this liberating, but to Bucky it felt like a dead weight had settled in his chest. What was there to do now?

“James?”

Bucky was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Natasha’s voice. She was still in the same position on the ground, but her eyes were open and she was looking at him quizzically. 

“I’m ok, I was just . . .thinking.” Bucky’s eyes turned briefly to the encroaching darkness that was beginning to swallow the sunset.

Natasha pulled herself into a sitting position. That was when Bucky noticed that her hair had become tangled during her sleep, causing parts of it to stick up from her head at an utterly ridiculous angle. The laugh escaped Bucky’s throat before he could stop it.

“What is it?” Natasha frowned at him, her deadly serious expression only making Bucky laugh harder. 

“Nothing! It’s just- your hair is-!” He put his hand over his mouth to suppress the snort that threatened to erupt.

Natasha raised her hand to where her hair was sticking out, and seemed to understand. For a moment, Bucky was worried that she would be angry at him. But then she moved closer and raised her hand to run her fingers through his hair. 

“Your’s isn’t much better James,” she said as she trailed her fingers through the rough tangles, various twigs and dirt stuck after sleeping on the ground. Then she laughed, her face breaking into a genuine smile that almost blinded Bucky for a moment. Is was so much different then the smile she had given the man at the bar last night, the one she had fed on. It was different than the tight smiles she had given Yelena. Her eyes were sparkling, her red mouth stretched into a grin. Her laughter sounded light, but rough, like an instrument that hadn’t been played in ages: a little out of tune, but quickly re-learning and regaining it’s sound. 

Just like last night, Bucky held his breath, taking in every inch of Natasha’s face. That same warmth flooded his chest again. If his heart still beat, it would have been pounding wildly.

After what seemed like an eternity Natasha withdrew her hand. Bucky took a breath.

“So, what’s the plan?”

He regretted it almost as soon as it left his mouth, because Natasha’s smile was gone and her pensive look had returned. “I’m not going back to the Red Room.”

“Of course not,” Bucky soothed. “It’s just that as nice as this cave is, I don’t really wanna spend the rest of my immortal life in it.” This earned him a small smile back on Natasha’s lips.

The truth was, Natasha hadn’t thought of a next step. She was so furious as she left the Red Room that she hadn’t thought of what her and James were going to do or where they were going. She realized with a pang that thinking ahead wasn’t something she had to do in a long time. All those years living in the mountains, she barely had to think of anything other than feeding when she was hungry and sleeping when she was tired. It was easier that way. But it wouldn’t be fair to subject James to that life, not if that wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Maybe,” Bucky stretched out on the ground where he sat. “We should leave Italy. Go to France, maybe get a boat to England.”

“For what purpose, James?”  
“Well.” Bucky grimaced. “You can’t deny that Italy holds some pretty bad memories. For both of us.”

Natasha couldn’t deny that.

“Besides,” Bucky moved closer to her. “Keeping on the move will give us something to do until we make a real plan. Never said we had to decide everything now.”

Natasha looked pensive again. Bucky reached over and took her hand. “If you don’t think-“

“No, James, you’re right. We can’t stay in this cave forever.” She smiled at him. She left unsaid that, as long as he was by her side and she didn’t have to be alone, she would go practically anywhere.

“Then we should probably get moving while it’s still early,” Bucky got to his feet. By now the sunset had completely faded and night had fully enveloped the land. 

As they were both exiting the cave, Natasha made a point to smooth down her hair with her fingers to appear less bedraggled. Bucky raised an eyebrow at her. She made a face at him, and he laughed. 

———————————————————————————————-

“Stupid boy!” Yelena hissed as the wineglass shattered, spilling it’s crimson contents all over the basement floor. The boy looked petrified at his mistake as he dropped to the floor and desperately tried to pick up the broken glass, staining his hands red. Yelena grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet so savagely that he cried out in pain.

“This one is my best seller,” Yelena hissed into the boy’s ear, indicating with a jerk of her head to the man sitting comatose in the chair before them, pale as death with his wrists bound and a large gash in his neck. “I won’t have a single drop more of his blood wasted. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded vigorously, stammering out half-formed apologies as he fled up the stairs. Yelena sighed and rubbed her temples. She surveyed to room before her, where at least a dozen humans, male and female, were bound in the exact same was as the other man, hooked up to ramshackle medical equipment. The supply of morphine Yelena always had on hand assured that these people never had the energy to move or speak, which decreased naturally as their blood was slowly drained away. Now they looked like little more than corpses, never moving and their eyes staring listlessly at some fixed point on the wall in front of them.

Yelena sullenly began to ascend the stairs to the bar area. She had been vehemently refusing to acknowledge it, but Natasha’s visit had greatly unnerved her. Leave it to Natasha, to show up and ruin the relative stability and peace Yelena had enjoyed over the last few years. The independence and good reputation she had so mindfully cultivated. Natasha, always Natasha. Yelena seethed. Would she ever be free of that woman? It seemed the two of them were always fated to clash, from the orphanage to the Bolshoi, to their lives as immortals. Of course, there was good to go along with the bad between them, but wouldn’t it be nice to never have Natasha meddle with her again.

A lone figure was sitting at the bar when she entered the room. Tall, well-built, wearing a new suit of good cut. Yelena put on a smile and was about to welcome the stranger, but when he turned towards her, revealing a dark mustache and unmistakably piercing gaze, Yelena knew it wasn’t a stranger. The smile froze on her face.

“Yelena,” Ivan said, his mouth contorting into a cruel smile, revealing his fangs. “You’ve done quite well for yourself. I did not think you were capable.”

Not bothering to exchange pleasantries, Yelena crossed the room and sat at the stool next to him. “What do you want, Ivan?” Her voice came out in a hiss, every nerve on edge, fighting the urge to bear her teeth.

Ivan grinned, “Can’t an old man visit a former pupil without such animosity? Really ‘Lena, I thought I’d taught you better.”

“In that case,” Yelena said sweetly, changing tactics. “Why don’t I fetch us a glass of someone and we can catch up? You know Ivan, I’d almost believe that you’d simply come for a chat, except for a breathtaking coincidence that another old friend was just here to visit recently-“

“Where is she, Yelena?” Ivan’s voice was hard.

She snorted. “Why would you expect me to know? Natasha was never one to reveal things, especially when you were concerned.”

“You are saying that she gave you absolutely no information as to where she was going?” Anger was starting to creep into Ivan’s voice.

“No,” Yelena rolled her eyes. “And even if she did, why would I even think of telling you-“

The slap blindsided her before she could react, and Yelena had to brace herself against the bar to stop herself from flying across the room. Then his hand was around her throat and he was towering over her, his expression contorted with rage and his fangs bared. “Where is she Yelena?”

“I-I don’t k-know!” She sputtered, hands clawing at his arms trying to free herself from his iron grip. “G-god damnit, I s-said I don’t know you bastard!” 

It seemed like an eternity that Ivan searched her face, looking for any sign of falsehood. When he finally released her, Yelena fell sputtering to the floor. 

“B-bastard!” She shrieked out when she could finally speak. “Lying bastard!”

Ivan had already turned toward the door. He looked back at her, his face a mask of disgust. “You were always the weak one, Yelena. You could never match her. Not in life, not in death.” He turned on his heel and walked out. 

It was nearly an hour before Yelena could move from where she lay, holding her throat, trying to control her breathing, and reeling from this visit and what it meant for her, and for Natasha.


	16. The Tsar's Favorite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I hope you like more of Natasha's past, because that's what I'm giving you! :D

After her debut performance, the weeks passed by in a rosy blur for Natalia. Never-ending compliments rained down on her from the nobility and the common people alike. The papers proclaimed her the Pride of Russia, the dancer who would bring Russian Ballet onto the world stage. Natalia even received a few proposals of marriage by a few overly-eager fans. She turned them all down with a smile and a laugh, insisting her dance career was enough of a marriage to last her a lifetime.

“You should have just chosen one of those men,” Yelena had whispered into her ear as they did their warm-up exercises at the barre in the main studio. “at least then you will have a wealthy husband who will take care of you. The fans, the roles, the Tsar’s favor, how long do you really think these will last?”

“And then you will have your turn, Yelena?” Natalia rolled her eyes and continued to focus on her plies, bending her knees and keeping her heels off the floor. 

“The Primas who came before you, Natalia, where do you think they are now? Either married to some rich old noble or begging on the streets now that they are too old to dance and are no longer useful to the Bolshoi. Believe it or not, I am only looking out for you best interest-“

“Girls, be silent!” Madame B barked from across the room. 

Natalia closed her eyes, glad for the respite from Yelena’s biting chatter and the chance to focus completely on her plies and grand battlements, banishing the spiteful words from her mind. But deep in the pit of her stomach was a gnawing fear that Yelena was right. 

After group practice, Natalia hurried to the private studio to rehearse. The Bolshoi was preforming La Sylphide in a couple of weeks, and she had been given the coveted role of the Sylph, a sprightly fairy who seduces a young scotsman. What was particularly difficult about the role was that she had to appear weightless, as if she was floating, for the duration of the performance. This meant spending almost the entire show en pointe. Natalia glided on tiptoe across the studio, desperate to project that level of joyful weightlessness that was to crucial to the part. By the end of practice, her feet were throbbing, and spots of blood stained her shoes again. 

She groaned in frustration, sitting down in the empty studio to asses the damage to her shoes. Dark red stains oozed through the fabric. They wouldn’t be useable now. With a sigh Natalia look them off and re-wrapped her injured feet. Then she pulled out a new pair of slippers from her bag along with her sewing kit. Slippers had to be sewn and fitted to each individual dancer, so each member of the company carried around their own needles and thread. Natalia threaded her needle and began expertly sewing thread into the soles of the slippers, adding durability to the blocks in the front for better friction and control when dancing. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Romanova.”

Natalia looked up, startled. standing in the doorway to the studio was the man she had met in the Tsar’s court after her debut performance, Ivan Pietrovich. Instead of his sparkling uniform, he was dressed in a casual suit of god cut. His dark hair was slicked back, and his facial hair was immaculate. His face wore a dazzling smile, revealing that set of pure white teeth. The lights from the candles illuminating the room caused the ring on his right hand to sparkle, the same large ruby from when she had met him.

Natalia stood up hastily, giving the man a wary smile. “Sir Ivan, is it? What a lovely surprise, what brings you here at such an hour?”

“You, of course.” Ivan crossed the space between them more quickly, it seemed, than humanely possible, setting Natalia on edge. “Or, more like an errand concerning you. Our Imperial Majesty wished me to deliver this gift,” he held out a small box, tied with a velvet ribbon. “As well as pass along his good wishes to you, and his excitement for your next performance.” He winked at her.

Natalia took the offered box from his hand. When she did, her hand brushed his ice-cold skin, causing goosebumps to form on her arm. The lump of uneasiness in her stomach grew bigger.

“Please tell our Imperial Majesty that I am grateful and humbled by this kind gift,” Natalia spoke mechanically, gripping the box with one hand reaching down to gather her things with the other. 

Ivan raised his eyebrows. “You will not open it?”

“I prefer such a special gift be opened in private,” she gave him a smile, hoping that would disguise how she really felt. Natalia couldn’t explain it, but there was something . . . unnerving about this man. Something dark and dangerous and frightening. She didn’t want to be in this room with him another second. “Now, sir, if you’ll excuse me-“

She had scooped up her bag with the unfinished slippers, and had bent down to retrieve her sewing kit. As she did so her hand accidentally closed on one of her needles. Natalia cried out as the pointed edge sank into the soft flesh of her palm, immediately causing dark red blood to ooze out of the injured area. 

“I’m sorry I-“ Natalia hurriedly shoved the sewing kit into her bag, and turned to find Ivan staring directly at the blood dripping down her hand.

His expression had shifted. His dazzling smile was gone, replaced by his mouth being set in a hard line and his eyes focused intensely on her cut. It was this intensity that terrified her. His eyes were dark and predatory. He looked . . . well he looked like he was starving and someone had just placed food before him. Natalia’s heart started to pound.

“Please excuse me,” she managed to say as she tried to brush past him. “But I’m late for supper with the company-“

Ivan’s icy hand seized her wrist. “Why eat with them?” He licked his lips. “Dine with me.”

“I-I would, but dancers are punished for leaving the dormitories without permission,” Natalia stammered out the excuse. With difficulty, she wrenched her hand from Ivan’s grasp. “Please excuse me.”

She ran past him, down the hallway as fast as her still-aching feet would carry her. When she finally reached the main area of the dormitory, her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking. She looked behind her to see if he had followed, but there was no sign of anyone.

—————————————————————————

Natalia tried to put the incident out of her mind. She continued training and rehearsal for La Sylphide. She proudly displayed to the envious soloists the exquisite emerald necklace that had been in the box she had received from Ivan: a gift from the Tsar that set off her auburn hair to perfection. But inside she was still rattled from the events of that night. What was it about that man that made her so uneasy? And who was this man, this Ivan Pietrovich, to begin with?

She approached Yelena one day after company practice, knowing how she was always eavesdropping on gossip in the Bolshoi halls, especially when it came to the nobility and the court. 

“What do you know of Ivan Pietrovich?” Natalia tried to make her voice sound as casual as possible. 

Yelena stopped and looked at her, her eyebrows raised. “Why would you ask about him?”

“He came to deliver my gift from the Tsar,” Natalia said nonchalantly. “I’m merely wondering why the Tsar trusts him with such important tasks.”

Yelena kept her eyebrows raised, and then shrugged. “Nobody really knows anything about him. He only emerged in the last couple years. He has no wealth, no land, and no important lineage, but somehow the Tsar has taken a liking to him and is working to secure him a title, can you believe it? Although, our Tsar did free the peasants, so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t much care for family or title, no wonder the nobles are scrambling to secure their positions-“

“Yes, yes, Yelena,” Natalia cut in, trying to hide her impatience. “But what about Ivan?”

“Well, what I said before, no one really knows his past or where he comes from. Although . . .” Yelena hesitated, then chuckled. “This really is a ridiculous rumor, almost certainly just jealous nobles spreading gossip-“

“What, Yelena?” Natalia felt her patience almost snap.

“There is a rumor that the Tsar favors Ivan because he is skilled in the dark arts. Curses, black magic. Unholy things. Some say he is an agent of the Devil.”

“What?” Natalia scoffed. She had never heard such outrageous things in her life, even coming from Yelena’s mouth. And yet, deep down she felt her blood freeze at the memory of those icy hands, those predatory eyes . . . 

“As I told you Natalia, ridiculous! Rumors spread by jealous nobles! But that is not all new, you see,” Yelena grinned, “there have always been rumors of the Romanovs consulting mystics.”

Natalia swallowed hard.

Yelena simply laughed and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Put such nonsense from your mind, Natalia, and hurry or we’ll be late for rehearsal!” She grabbed Natalia’s hand, and Natalia allowed her to lead her out of the room and down the hall. But even through rehearsal, when the music was swirling around her and Madame B offered her endless praise on her weightless dancing, a fear that she couldn’t understand continued to gnaw at Natalia’s stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I maaaayyyy have lifted the idea of the bleeding-in-front-of-the-vampire scene from Bram Stoker's Dracula. Gotta stay true to the genre, right? ;)


	17. Music Box

It had been a few weeks since the two of them had crossed the French border. They traveled at night and slept during the day, either in the woods or in one of the numerous small villages they passed during their travels, assuming they hadn’t made a kill there the previous night. For now, James’s idea of traveling to London had been put on the back-burner, since Natasha had begun teaching him how to better hone his new, powerful senses.

“Concentrate,” Natasha urged him one night as they were both hiding in the shadows of an alley, watching the people pass by. They were both hungry, which meant their senses were t their strongest. “What can you smell? What can you hear?”

Bucky allowed his eyes to close and willed himself to breathe deeply. At first, like always, the smell of all the blood and the sound of all the heartbeats blended together in a loud, overwhelming cocktail. But like that night in the bar, he concentrated harder and managed to single out one specific person: an old man who was smoking a cigarette on a bench across the street. Bucky could hear the weak, but steady beats of his pulse as his heart pumped blood through his veins. His blood smelled like meat about to go bad: still appealing enough, but nearly at the end of it’s life. It didn’t help that with each puff of the cigarette the man’s heart sputtered and his veins filled with the acrid smell of the smoke and nicotine. Bucky wrinkled his nose and moved on to a smell more appetizing: that of a man who was busy closing up a small shop down the road. He was younger and healthier, which reflected in the steady thumping of his heart and the sweeter smell of his blood. As Bucky moved his concentration away, he could hear the sounds of people breathing in houses nearby, hear the voices of a man and woman having a loud argument in French at least three blocks away. God, he could even hear the pitter-patter of feet as a fox from the woods nearby darted across the street from where it had been looking for scraps in a garbage bin. 

“I . . . I can hear and smell everything. But I can see differences too, like when someone’s old or sick or healthy. Or when something’s happening blocks and blocks away,” He reported to Natasha, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

“Being able to tell which humans are sick is important. When people are ill, their blood turns sour and rancid. If you’re not careful, it can make you sick,” Natasha instructed, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she remembered when she had made that mistake. It had been during the first few years after she was turned, when she had gone too long without feeding and was desperate enough to break into a house where an old man had been sleeping. She was too hungry to take note of the smell of his blood, or really care about the way it tasted. It turned out the man had been terminally ill, and as a result she had gotten the vampire equivalent of food poisoning: she had spent hours in agony as she vomited up the man’s blood. I was almost two days before she had the strength to pick herself up from the ground.

“Eventually you’ll be able to tune out the sounds when you’re not looking to feed, it can be overwhelming at times. It’s harder the newer you are, but it gets easier with time,” Natasha declared confidently, giving James an encouraging smile. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her. “You learn all of this by experience, or did someone teach you?”

“Some from experience, some I was taught . . . “ Natasha frowned, and Bucky instantly regretted the question. 

“I’m hungry, let’s find somewhere to feed.” Natasha stepped out of the alley and began to walk down the street, with Bucky lingering behind. 

He’d made several attempts to try to find out more about her past, but to no avail. Every time Natasha would change the subject, her face slamming shut. She still hadn’t told him anything more about her creator, or the Red Room. Bucky chided himself for trying to force her. These memories were clearly painful, and hard for her to speak about. But he yearned to know more about this woman, the woman who’d saved his life and was helping him make sense of his new self. A woman he was growing close to.

But even without talking about it, as time passed Bucky began to gather some information. 

They had been passing through another town that night. France was slowly starting to re-build itself after the war, and stores were starting to open for business again, selling all sorts of rather frivolous goods to help re-start the ravaged economy. They were passing by one of these store windows when Bucky noticed an ornately-decorated music box sitting on one of the displays. It was painted red with gold trim, and it’s open lid revealed the tiny glass figurine of a ballerina. The figure stood en pointe, in a white tutu, her tiny mouth and cheeks painted bright red. It was the kind of trinket one might buy for a little girl, or for someone to display on a shelf in their home. 

Bucky was about to remark on why store owners would think to sell such things when most people in France were still rebuilding their shattered country, but slammed his mouth shut when he saw Natasha’s face.

Her eyes were fixed on that music box, her lips parted and one hand reaching out towards the glass, as if to touch the little ballerina. Her eyes were wistful and full of longing, and Bucky remembered with a jolt the ballet slippers he had seen in her bag. 

“. . . Do you like Ballet?” He ventured gently, measuring each word carefully. He barely knew anything about it, except that his mother had once bought cheap tickets to a showing of the Nutcracker around Christmas, and had dragged him and his siblings along. He had sat pouting the entire time, angry that his mother had wrestled him into his uncomfortable suit, bored to tears by the fairy-tale and the dancing that he didn’t understand. 

“I used to . . .” She swallowed and tore her eyes away from the music box.

“I’ve only seen the Nutcracker, when I was a kid. Mom made me. Can’t say 9 year-old me enjoyed it,” Bucky joked.

Natasha smiled faintly. “Tchaikovsky always loved composing fairy tales.” Her voice was soft, almost dreamy, like she was lost in a memory. “He always wanted his music played by the Bolshoi. He once said I would be perfect for the sugar plum fairy.”

Before Bucky had time to fully process that, Natasha had taken one last look at the music box and continued on down the street. He stared after her.

It hadn’t been hard to sneak back to the shop later and break the lock with his newfound strength. Bucky made sure to leave everything else untouched as he snatched the music box from it’s place in the display window. He discovered that once wound up, when he opened it again the box played a lullaby as the ballerina figure spun around. 

He’d given it to Natasha later that night, as they both hunkered down in an old building that had been abandoned. Her eyes had gone wide when she recognized it, and Bucky had put it carefully into her hands. 

“I thought . . . since you were looking at it in the window earlier . . . that you might, y’know . . .” Bucky looked away, embarrassed, even a little sheepish, considering he had blatantly stolen the music box.

Natasha opened the box, releasing the tinkling music and the spinning ballerina. She blinked, and for a moment Bucky was worried that she would cry. But then she smiled, her eyes shining.

“I love it James, thank you.” The words sent a euphoric spasm of warmth through his chest. 

Later, when she was sure James had fallen asleep, Natasha took out the box again. She opened it and watched the tiny porcelain dancer, then closed the music box and lay on her side, clutching it to her chest in a tight hug. She closed her eyes and bit her lip so the sobs were kept locked inside her. 

—————————————————————————————————————

“So where did you see them?” The figure in front of the woman spoke in a gravely voice. She shifted uncomfortably, already regretting the situation she had put herself in. But a lump sum of cash had been placed by the man across the table from where she sat: enough for rent for the next few months, at least. Giving a few bits of information to this man was worth that, right?

“They came in: the woman with the red hair and the soldier who was missing an arm.” The man’s eyebrows raised slightly at the description of the man. The woman continued, “never saw them buy anything at the bar. They came in, split up and disappeared for awhile, then left together. Funny enough, we found a body the next day. A woman, one of the prostitutes that sets up shop here. Found dead in her bed, with her throat torn open.” The woman shuddered. 

This was taking too long. Ivan drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. “So which direction did they go after?”

“Didn’t really see them after they left. I think they went east, back into the forest.” The woman looked away from his face, choosing to focus her eyes expectantly on the money.

Ivan’s stomach rumbled.

“Come outside, won’t you?” It didn’t sound like an invitation. Afraid to lose out on payment, the woman followed him out of the bar into the crisp night air. “Now, point to exactly where you saw these two people going.” The man’s voice was hard and steely.

The woman pointed east, back into the thick woods. “I’ve told you all I can sir, now can I have what you agreed to give me so I can get on with my work? I have customers-“

Ivan had his hand around the woman’s throat before she could scream as he dragged her behind the bar and into a dark corner. “In a moment,” he said thickly, saliva running down his fangs. “I’m afraid that there’s another way for you to be useful to me.”

The woman’s body felt light as Ivan dumped her at the edge of the forest. He stood still a moment, gazing in the direction that woman had pointed. His nostrils were flared, as though he was scenting the air like a dog on a hunt. His lips curved in a small smile as he bounded in that direction with inhuman speed.

Natasha would not escape him a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Tchaikovsky composed most of his ballets around the 1880's-90's. But, he started running the Moscow conservatory of Music in 1865, the same year Natasha's flashback takes place. So . . . we might run into him ;)


	18. Yelena's Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm sorry this chapter took longer than usual, I was hit with a bout of depression/possible illness??? that threw me for a loop and I didn't feel much like writing. Also I have to unfortunately tell you that after this, chapter updates might get less frequent. I'm starting my senior year of college (WHAT?????!!!!!) in about a week, and it's gonna be a busy semester with me taking my capstone course and everything else. BUT rest assured that I haven't lost my muse/love for this story and I intend to update as frequently as I possibly can! In the meantime, without further ado, here's chapter 18! :D

Russia, 1865.

I had been weeks since Ivan had first cornered her in the studio. Natalia’s heart still pounded when she thought about it, but she kept telling herself that she was overthinking what happened, especially in regards to the rumors that he was some agent of the devil. It was ridiculous, it sounded like one of the stories her and and the other children had been told by the matron at the orphanage to frighten them to behave. Not worth wasting another thought on.

Still, her first public performance in La Sylphide was rapidly approaching, in which the Tsar would most definitely be in attendance, and Ivan with him. Natasha dreaded the thought of seeing that man again. She desperately tried to push it out of her mind. After all, there was no guarantee he would be among the Tsar’s entourage at this performance. There was every chance that Natalia would never see this man again.

And well, there was plenty going on to keep her mind off of Ivan. Natalia found herself swept up in endless rehearsals, coupled with regular dance classes and agility training. On the rare occasions when she had free time, she found herself entertaining prominent Moscow officials and courtiers, coming to pay their respects to the Ballerina that was the talk of Russia, and perhaps of all Europe.

One of these admirers was a man by the name of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. A young man of twenty-five, he had recently been appointed professor at the new Moscow Conservatory of music. Natalia had met him briefly after her debut performance, and on certain occasions after he had finished classes, he would come to the Bolshoi to watch the dancers train, and exchange a few words with Natalia afterword. 

“A composer would count himself lucky to have a dancer such as you accompanying his music,” he said to her one day after training had ended.

Natalia laughed. “Compose a ballet, and I would gladly give you the honor of dancing in it. I’ve heard that you are quite the talent.”

He smiled warmly at her. “I have been working on a few compositions, works based on old fairy tales. One tells the story of a coursed princess turned into a swan, who falls in love with a prince who can break the spell. Of course, the evil sorcerer who cursed the princess hears of this, and rather than become prey to him once more the princess kills herself, and her lover with her-“

“So not a happy ending, I take it?” Natalia reached down to her feet to untie her ballet slippers.

“Ah, but miss. Romanova, does life always have a happy ending?” Tchaikovsky looked at her earnestly. “And what of La Sylphide? Your Slyph is slain and her lover kills himself unable to bear the news-“

“But that was justified!” Natalia protested. “The Slyph is killed as punishment for stealing the man away from his bride! By ripping the life the Bride had always wanted away from her-“

“Alas, life isn’t always fair. Art is not always meant to reflect our happiness, it can also reflect our sorrow, our longing, our hope . . . that is what I mean to portray in my compositions.” His eyes looked wistful.

Natalia mused on this long after he had left, as she made her way along the corridors of the dormitory to her room. It was said of Tchaikovsky that he was one of the most promising young musicians in Russia. If he was truly this inspired in his music, then he would make the country proud one day. 

Low voices around the corner made her footsteps slow. She recognized the high-pitched, haughty voice of Yelena, and a lower, growling voice. One that made her blood run cold. Ivan. Natalia’s heart leapt into her throat. 

She willed all her courage to peek around the corner. It was indeed Yelena and Ivan, carrying on a hushed conversation in the darkest corner of the dormitory hallway. But they were too far away for Natalia to clearly discern what they were saying. Her heart was pounding. She couldn’t shake the feeling that as she watched this scene that Ivan was aware of her presence. She could feel the foul energy that came off of that man filling the air around her.

After what seemed like an eternity, their conversation ended and Ivan vanished down the opposite end of the hall. Yelena hurried in Natalia’s direction, so fat that she almost collided into her as she stepped into view. 

“Natalia!” Yelena grinned. “Another late night, I see? You know, you shouldn’t waste your time talking to that Tchaikovsky, as though he will propose marriage to you. I hear he likes to spend his time surrounded by pretty young men-“

“Enough, Yelena!” Natalia hissed, her shaking hands balled into fists. “I saw who you were talking to just now!”

Yelena had the grace to look a little guilty. “Oh Ivan? It was nothing,” she said lightly. “He merely needed my knowledge of a certain person at court. You know how good I am with gossip, and at court it never hurts to get dirt on one of your rivals-“

“You know not to let strange men into the dormitories at night! I should report you to Madame B for this!”

“Natalia, it was only once, I swear! I gave him the information and he left! You know I would never do anything to endanger the company!” Yelena gave her a pleading look. 

Some of Natalia’s anger ebbed. “Still, you should know better. After the things people say about him . . . you are the one who told me that he may be involved in unholy things!”

Something came over Yelena then. Her eyes registered guilt again, maybe even fear. Suddenly Natalia wondered if the excuse for Ivan’s visit had been just that: an excuse.

“You know how court gossip is Natalia, though once in a while it is not entirely gossip . . .” Yelena yawned. “I am tired, I think we both need some rest.

Yelena turned and headed down the hall to the dormitory, leaving Natalia to ponder what this meant.

———————————————————————————————————-

Yelena’s odd behavior continued in the two weeks leading up to the big performance. All too often she would disappear after rehearsal and be gone for hours, returning late in the night. Natalia noticed that when Yelena returned from these disappearances in a fevered, almost panicked state. Sometimes she was seized by a jubilant mania, laughing and joking with the other dancers, her eyes glittering. Other times she succumbed to a mania of a different sort: outbursts of anger, constantly terrified and looking over her shoulder. Natalia had no doubt as to what was causing this: Yelena was continuing to meet with Ivan, quite often by the looks of it.

So Yelena was attempting to cozy up to a friend of the Tsar’s to further her own interests, perhaps to assert her own position at the Bolshoi? It wouldn’t be a shock. Yelena might charm an ox if she thought it would advance her, Natalia thought bitterly. But as infuriating as Yelena could be, the thought of her at the mercy of that man unnerved her greatly. The memory of those dark eyes as they locked on to the sight of the red gushing from her hand still made Natalia’s blood turn to ice. 

But preparations for the show continued despite the turmoil. Madame B now insisted that Natalia practice extra hours in the studio with her male partner, a young man named Nikolai, who played the young scotsman in La Sylphide. She reminded Natalia constantly that the Tsar’s continued favor, the fame, and the reputation of the Bolshoi all hinged on her ability to dance perfectly at every show, mistakes weren’t an option. It became that Natalia was rehearsing every day from seven o’clock in the morning to nearly midnight. She would fall into bed exhausted every night, her feet throbbing and bloody, and would be asleep before the wick of her candle had cooled.

It was enough to quiet the worries about Yelena. After all, Natalia wasn’t entirely sure that she was disappearing in order to see Ivan. Natalia chose to put it out of her mind for now, and focus solely on her dancing. The training was all worth it, she told herself fiercely. She would be known as the greatest dancer in all of Russia, maybe even the world. She would bring Russian Ballet onto the world stage. She would dance for princes and kings across Europe. She would be loved by the Tsar and his people. It would all come to pass.

Finally, performance day arrived. The Bolshoi was buzzing with activity as stage hands ran about in a frenzy getting the scenery prepared. Once again, the corps and soloists chattered excitedly as they warmed up and slipped into their final costumes. Natalia found herself once again getting ready in her private dressing room, her stomach churning with nervousness as she tied her slippers securely over her feet and slipped into her costume.

The Tsar had sent her a breathtaking bouquet of flowers ahead of her performance. Tied among the stems was a brilliant ruby pendant, along with a handwritten note expressing how much he was looking forward to tonight’s performance. Natalia placed the flowers on a table in the corner and put the jewel into the ornate jewelry box that sat on her vanity, and contained the numerous jewels the Tsar had sent her as gifts. 

There was a knock on her dressing room door. Natalia opened it, expecting Madame B to launch into a lecture about dancing perfectly, but she instead came face-to-face with a girl named Anya, a soloist.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Natalia.” The girl looked intensely worried, biting her lip and fidgeting with her enormous tutu. But none of us can find Yelena. I know you and her are close, so I was wondering if you might have seen her.”

Natalia’s heart skipped a beat. “When was the last time you saw her?”

Anya wrung her hands nervously. “That is the problem. No one among the soloists has seen her in about three days. She told us that she was leaving, that she was going to ‘have her luck changed.’ None of us knew what she meant. We told Madame B she was unwell, no one wanted to be called a snitch. But now that it is before the performance,” she swallowed hard. “Well, you know how Yelena would never miss a show, even if she was unwell.”

Natalia felt sick. “I haven’t seen her, Anya, and I can’t imagine what has caused her to be missing, today of all days. Madame B will need to be notified. Go and find her.”

After Anya left, Natalia sat heavily in a chair, desperately trying to keep her hands from shaking. Guilt overwhelmed her: she hadn’t thought of Yelena in the past few days, and now it was possible she was dead at the hands of Ivan. How could she have been this foolish? Natalia took a deep breathe, trying to steady herself. A loud knock came from the door and a stage hand announced that final curtain call was in five minutes.

Natalia didn’t know how she would endure dancing tonight with Yelena missing, but everyone was counting on her. She steeled herself and stepped out of her dressing room, past the set pieces and bustling dancers to take her place behind the curtain. Madame B was sweeping through backstage like a tempest, muttering angrily under her breath about Yelena and how she would throttle her when she decided to make an appearance. Natalia’s eyes closed.

Then she heard a voice, sharp and clear, cut through all the background chatter: “I’m here, I’m here!” Yelena pushed her way through the crowd, hastily dressed in her costume, her hair pulled into a haphazard bun. 

Madame B glared at her. “If we were not about to perform, I’d strike you! Rest assured, you will be punished severely after this performance. Now take your place!”

“Yelena!” Natalia was so relieved and overjoyed to see her that she forgot her place and rushed to her friend’s side. She laid her hand on Yelena’s shoulder, to embrace her, or maybe to scold her, but she immediately pulled back in horror.

Her skin, it was so cold. Colder than she had ever felt it. As cold as his skin . . . Her eyes, always a clear blue, looked even brighter now, as if a blue fire were crackling inside them. Her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, and her lips were a deep crimson, although it didn’t look like they were painted. Natalia stepped back, feeling dizzy.

Yelena smiled at her, revealing a set of brilliant white teeth. “What’s the matter, mili moi?”

Everything else: the dancers, the stage, faded into the background. Natalia licked her lips. Her throat suddenly felt bone-dry. “Yelena . . . what have you done?”


	19. Ballet, Transformation, Terror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So I tried getting back to the present story in this chapter, but I realized that I wasn't ready to move forward with the main story until I got all of Nat's backstory out of the way. So here's an extra-long chapter that finally reveals all of Nat's past! Don't worry, we'll get back to Nat and Bucky-boy soon! ;)
> 
> Warning: this chapter's gonna be DARK.

The words had barely left Natalia’s lips when Madame B came rushing up to her and Yelena. 

“What are you two doing?” She hissed, her face red. “Get back into positions! The curtain rises any second!” 

Yelena simply gave Natalia another brilliant smile and hurried to join the other soloists. Natalia felt as though she would faint. What had Yelena done? Her eyes, her skin . . . the coldness of Ivan’s skin flashed through Natalia’s mind, the way his ice blue eyes had pierced her soul. Had Ivan . . . turned Yelena into something?

Even though Natalia’s mind was in turmoil, the curtain was about to rise. Some of the most important people in the empire were waiting to see her perform. She took a deep breath and stepped into position, waiting for the cue to make her grand entrance.

When she stepped onstage, she was once again nearly blinded by the thousands of candles illuminating the Bolshoi stage. She looked up and saw the Tsar’s box, glittering and full. And there was the Tsar, looking down at her, enraptured, a dazzling smile on his face. And next to him . . .

Ivan was also looking down at her, but his smile was cruel, almost hungry, his red lips curved into a kind of sneer. Natalia’s heart leapt into her throat. 

She forced her mouth into a smile as she began to dance, her long flowing tutu swirling around her as she mimicked the sprightly movements of the fairy seducing the young scotsman. The soloists made up her entourage of fairies in the background, giving the illusion of a sea of white tulle and endless flowers. 

Natalia so desperately wanted everything to fade away, to become lost in the movements and the music, but no matter how hard she tried she could feel Ivan’s sharp eyes on her from the royal box. When she looked the other way, she could see Yelena, dancing with the other soloists, visibly moving faster and with more agility, just enough to be noticeable. Yelena’s face wore a smile: she looked almost smug as she the other dancers struggled to keep pace with her. The terror in Natalia’s core grew.

She couldn’t focus. She nearly fell out of one of her turns near the end of the first act, landing awkwardly on her left foot. A spasm of pain shot up the leg, and she gasped, blinking back tears. She was momentarily thrown off her pace, enough so that the audience murmured a bit. Natalia glanced toward the curtain and saw Madame B, her face red, pursing her lips in disapproval. Natalia bit back a sob, swallowing her fear and pain, and managed to regain control, executing a series of turns that had the crowd on their feet clapping by the time the curtain fell for intermission. 

When the curtain fell Natalia immediately bolted for her dressing room, unable to face Yelena or Madame B’s criticisms. Her injured leg throbbed, and tears leaked from her eyes as she swept into the room, slamming the door behind her. She was shaking as she sank heavily into a chair, buried her face in her hands, and began to sob. The world felt as though it was being ripped from her grasp. She gulped for air, trying desperately to steady herself. If she couldn’t perform the second act, then everything she had worked for over these past few months would be destroyed. 

Suddenly, to door to her dressing room was flung open, and there stood the Tsar in all his finery, looking at Natalia with a mixture of surprise and concern. “My dear, whatever is the matter?”

Natalia had dropped into a hasty curtsey when he entered. She frantically tried to swallow her sobs. A sharp, desperate hope began to bloom in her chest as she realized that this might be her only chance at stopping whatever was going on.

She flung herself on her knees before the Tsar. “Your Imperial Majesty, I must warm you of something! Your friend, Ivan Pietrovich, he is a dangerous man! He . . . he’s done something to my friend. Turned her into something. It’s said he’s some kind of monster! You’re in danger having him in your service! I beg you please, send him away, do something . . .”

The Tsar had listened to all of this with a frown and his brow winkled in concern. But when Natalia was finished speaking, his mouth opened in a grin and he flung his head back and let out a hearty laugh. Natalia was still on her knees, frozen.

“Oh, forgive me my dear, but these worries are mere fancies, I can assure you! Ivan is a healing man, his remedies can cure the sick and the dying, I’ve seen him do it! I’m certain whatever he did to your friend was merely one of these remedies, to heal a troubled mind or injury. Rest assured, Ivan would never seek to harm a hair on anyone’s head.”

Natalia blinked, shocked. She began to tremble. The Tsar was blind.

“No, please, please believe me!” She began to sob again. “I’m telling the truth! Ivan . . . he f-frightens me! H-he-“

“There, there.” The Tsar soothed, bending down and raising her up by her shoulders. “You’re imagining things, my dear. And you are in pain from that turn onstage earlier. Take a minute to rest, remember, you have another act to perform, and I did not come here tonight to see you dance only half the show!” He had tilted her chin up to look at him, like he had done the first night they had met, and without warning he lowered his face and planted a wet, smacking kiss on her forehead. 

Disgust flooded every inch of Natalia’s body. Disgust for the Tsar, for Ivan, for everything that had led to this moment. It was so palpable she could almost taste it in the air. Violently she pulled back from the Tsar’s grip, resisting the urge to slap him across she face. Her lips formed words: she didn’t know what she said, but it was enough to make his mouth drop open in shock. Then she ran from the dressing room. 

Still in her costume, she pushed past other dancers and stage hands as she ran blindly for the doors. She needed air. She couldn’t stand being in this theater another minute. She reached the stage door and was about to pull it open when she was grabbed from behind, a frigid hand clamping around her mouth before she could scream as she was dragged into the shadows. 

“There. You have her, now let me get to the stage! They’ll be wanting someone to finish the show.” It was Yelena. She was half-hidden by the shadows, her blue eyes gleaming. 

“In a moment, my dear.” Ivan tightened his grip on Natalia’s wrist so hard she felt like the bone would snap. His other hand was still clamped around her mouth. His eyes were roving over her, finally settling on her throat. They were ravenous, crazed, and when his mouth opened Natalia could see the sharp teeth extending like needles.

She struggled and kicked, tried to scream, but it was all useless. His grip on her was too strong.

“Come on! I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain! The second half is about to begin! I saw Madame B watching me earlier, I’m certain she’ll pick me to take her place!” Yelena bared her teeth at Ivan, revealing a pair of identical fangs.

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Fine, if you must. Though I fear it will be quite a dull second half.” Yelena glared at him, then cast one more glance at Natalia. For a minute, her eyes registered guilt, but then it was gone and she had disappeared down the hallway. 

Ivan turned back to Natalia. He licked his lips with a savage grin. She tried to scream, to bite his hand, but she couldn’t. He lowered his mouth so he could whisper in her ear.

“You are mine now. You will always be mine.”

Natalia let out a weak muffled sob as he sank his sharp teeth into her throat. He drank, and the world became a blur as her vision dimmed and her strength evaporated. She could feel her blood dripping down her neck, staining her costume in dark red. She was going to die, she could feel it. Her eyes closed. 

Finally, when it seemed her strength was gone, Ivan removed his mouth from her throat. Was he going to leave her here? Drop her and leave her body to be found by stagehands? Natalia found the strength to barely open her eyes. When she did, she saw Ivan take a knife out of his pocket and slice open his wrist. Blackish blood poured from the wound. Natalia’s eyes fluttered shut.

She didn’t have the power to resist as he pushed the wound against her mouth. She gagged on the foul taste, and tried to spit it out, but Ivan withdrew his wrist and savagely pressed his hand over her mouth again, keeping the substance locked inside.

“Don’t resist this,” he hissed. Natalia had no choice but to swallow his blood. It took the last of her strength. A wave of black came over her vision, and she felt Ivan withdraw his hand as her body sank to the floor. 

————————————————————————————————————————-

She remembered screaming. When the liquid on her stomach started to burn and her body was wracked with convulsions. Other times someone screamed, but it wasn’t her. Sometimes Natalia could discern Yelena’s voice, high pitched and hysterical.

“You BASTARD! You promised! You promised to make me the star of the Bolshoi! You promised untold riches, immortality! Yet you drag me away with her! Where are you taking us?”

The sound of the slap reverberated through whatever room they were in.

“Shut up, you bitch!” Ivan’s voice. “I made you, I can do with you what I wish! You follow me where I go, and that’s the end of it!”

Natalia’s mind faded into nothingness again.

Days passed. She slept. Sometimes she felt herself being moved, carried in someone’s arms or crossing terrain in a horse and carriage. She had no idea how far they traveled.

When she woke, she was hungry. Starving. Ravenous. Her new fangs had extended, glistening and angry. Her eyes shone ice blue. And there was Ivan, grinning wolfishly at her from across the room where she lay.

She desperately tried to resist, hiding from Ivan and Yelena, fighting the hunger that was consuming every cell in her body. But then Ivan dragged her out into the night and threw her into the field with the young farmer. She could stop herself then, sinking her teeth into the boy’s throat, the crimson liquid running down her cheeks, staining her costume. 

She managed to get away from him long enough to make it back to Moscow, back to the Bolshoi. Her mind was in a haze of confusion and hunger. She tried to walk when the sun came up, but the light made her too weak. She stumbled through forests and villages, letting the bushes and brambles make gashes on her legs, her face and arms. When she finally reached the Bolshoi, it was dark, and the moon hung high overhead.

There were two figures talking quietly outside the stage door. Natalia recognized Madame B’s voice. Then the other person spoke.

“. . . a tragedy really, to lose our principal and a soloist in one night! How can we explain this to the papers? To our Tsar? It will take years to build up the Bolshoi’s reputation again!”

Madame B snorted. “Really sir, it’s merely a stone in the road. Certainly it is a mystery as to how Natalia and Yelena disappeared, but their are dozens of other dancers ready to take their places. We can always make another star. Natalia’s fame would have burned out quickly, especially with how she behaved towards the Tsar on that night. I don’t know what that little wrench said, but he was quite miffed by the end of the performance. But rest assured, there will always be a million other dancers ready to step in lest something like this happen again.”

“The speculation on what happened to those girls would give us good publicity,” the man added.

Rage flooded Natalia, hot and piercing. Her lips pulled back from her teeth, and a rumbling growl erupted from her throat.

She ambushed Madame B as the old woman was making her way back toward the dormitories. She must have been quite a sight: still in her ballet costume, tattered and bloodstained, her fangs exposed and her eyes blazing, her crimson hair matted and falling in strings past her shoulders.

“Replaceable? A burnt-out star?” Natalia snarled into the woman’s face. Madame B’s eyes looked ready to pop from her head, and her face was grey with terror. 

Natalia felt a horrifying pleasure in killing her, digging her nails into the woman’s soft flesh, making her scream in agony as her fangs pierced the old woman’s throat, drinking until the body went slack and slumped against the wall. Natalia looked at the body, and for a crazed moment she wanted to laugh. But that was soon gone, and all her grief came rushing back.

When Ivan found her the next day, weeping beside her instructor’s body, she didn’t have the power to resist him dragging her back. 

————————————————————————————————————————-

She soon found out how Ivan had attained his wealth and favor. He catered to other members of their kind, buying up luxurious building, caging humans as bloodbags to feed the wealthy patrons who visited his establishment. He had amassed wealth and connections going back further than Natalia could even imagine. Turns out, their kind had managed to invade nearly every elite society in the world over the last few centuries. 

Her and Yelena her tasked with keeping the supply levels up. Going into villages and luring men and women back to the Red Room. Yelena, with her charm, took to this very well.

“We have to make the best of our situation. If this is how we survive then so be it,” she told Natalia with a shrug. Yelena never spoke of how she had betrayed Natalia on that night: maybe she thought that the fact that both their dreams were ripped away from them made up for what she had done. Natalia couldn’t bing herself to confront her about it. Her mind was still lost in a haze of grief and terror.

At first, she tried refusing doing Ivan’s bidding. Hiding from him, not bringing back people for him to drain. She still had scars on her arms from when he dug his nails into her flesh until she screamed. At that time she didn’t know her own strength enough to resist.

Decades passed. The grief turned into anger that clawed at Natalia’s heart and hardened her soul. She did what Ivan asked her to: she lured young men and women to their slow deaths, some of them low peasants with the promise of work, others drunkards who weren’t even aware what was happening. She let the anger fuel this, letting her bitterness and cruelty take control of her. She loathed herself.

Years passed, then decades. Soon there were whisperings of changes happening to the country. Ivan returned from court with a pinched face. Then the revolution came. The Tsar and his children were deposed, then murdered. Natalia couldn’t have imagined such a thing happening when she was human. Now to her it was only more blood, more death. With Ivan’s wealthy patrons fleeing, it was time for them to leave too.

Natalia welcomed it. She hated this country, once her treasured motherland that had now betrayed and left her to a fate worse than death. They moved to Italy, where more of their kind had settled. The Red Room thrived. Yelena relished the work they did, pleasing the customers, being liked and in the spotlight. She seemed to have forgotten about the Bolshoi, or that she was once human. Natalia didn’t.

After all these years of not running away, Ivan grew careless. He didn’t keep as tight a hold on them as he once had. Natalia sensed this. One night, when she was supposed to be out looking for people to take back, she fled.

She ran as fast as she could, as far as she could. She didn’t stop until her feet gave out in the snow high up in the mountains. When she awoke, it was to the huge, russet figure of a wolf standing next to her, sniffing the air around her curiously, his pack behind him.

Ivan didn’t come looking for her. She fed when the hunger overwhelmed her and slept when she was tired. She let her dress get tattered and her hair grow wild. The wolves were the only company she needed. She started calling herself Natasha, wanting to do away with the old saying of her name that was drenched in memories. She tried to forget. 

After awhile, Natasha thought that she may have found some sort of peace, as lacking of an existence as this way.

Then she found a dying man in the snow.


	20. Past Becomes Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it's been at least a month since I've updated, sorry about that lol. School is . . . school. But I'm really hoping to get at least one more update in this month, since it is Halloween! (also we're coming up on the year anniversary of me starting this fic, holy fuck!)
> 
> As always, COMMENT!!!!!

Bucky stared down at his drink: scotch on the rocks. His favorite, or it used to be. Now the thought of swallowing the liquid made him nauseous. He swirled it in the glass a bit, careful to keep his eyes downcast.

The woman sitting across from raised an eyebrow, her lips curving in a smile. “Not the brand you like?”

Bucky looked up at her, and forced his lips to curve into a smile as well. “Just not very thirsty tonight.” Well, that was only half-true. His eyes involuntarily fixed themselves on a large vein running down the woman’s throat. His mouth watered.

He felt Natasha’s hand grip his wrist. She was sitting next to him, her hair up in a bun and wearing a dress of navy velvet. They had both stolen new clothes a couple nights ago, when someone had carelessly left their laundry out overnight. Natasha was smiling pleasantly at the man who sat across from her: the other woman’s husband.

“So how long have you two been married?” The man lit a cigarette, letting the smoke curl out of his mouth and nostrils as he exhaled his drag. 

Bucky started to open his mouth, but Natasha tapped his wrist with her fingertips.

“Less than year. He was a soldier, he was injured and we met when I nursed him. We decided to stay in France after the war ended.” Natasha’s voice was smooth as she said all this with a smile. Bucky nearly choked on his own spit. They weren’t even wearing rings.

The woman nodded sympathetically. “The war was hard for everyone. John and I got married just before he shipped off. We count ourselves lucky he wasn’t injured.”

Bucky’s eyes closed. He still hated this part, trying to make small-talk with his goddamn dinner! He knew Natasha hated it too. 

Then again, when Bucky noticed John very deliberately brush his ankle against Natasha’s leg, he wondered if tonight it would be easier for her. He wished he could rip the man’s throat out himself.

When John’s wife said she wanted another drink, Bucky quickly volunteered to go to the bar. He needed time to breathe. He didn’t notice that Natasha had followed him until she came up beside him, their arms touching.

“I suppose it will be better for them if they’ve had a few drinks,” she said quietly, motioning with her hand to get the bartenders attention. Drinks ordered, she turned to face him. Her eyes were thoughtful, and sad. 

Bucky looked at her. A rush of raw emotion suddenly flooded his chest. God, he didn’t want to be here, looking for someone to drain to satisfy the hunger that was tearing at his guts. No, he wanted to leave this bar with Natasha and take her somewhere warm and comfortable and . . . take the pain that was in her eyes away. He didn’t know her, not really. He didn’t know exactly what had happened to her to cause her so much pain. But what he wouldn’t give to never see it in her eyes again, so see her smile again like when he gave her the music box. 

He cleared his throat. “Natasha, do you-“ His mouth went dry when she looked at him. A few stands of hair had come loose from her bun and were gently brushing her pale cheek. 

“Do you think . . . if we hadn’t met like we did-“

“You mean me finding you bleeding to death in the snow?” Natasha couldn’t stop the smirk that flitted across her face. 

“Well . . . yeah um, but I mean if we were both . . . normal, not . . . anyway if we had met, in a place like this, or at a dance or . . .” Shit, the words were sticking in his throat. “Could we . . . would we have. . . y’know . . .”

Natasha’s face had broken into a smile at his words, eradicating the sadness she her face had born just minutes ago. The warmth flooded through Bucky’s chest again, even if he couldn’t get the words out. But suddenly her gaze shifted, her line of sight darting to something just beyond him. And then the smile was gone, her face shifting into a look of pure horror. The bartender had delivered their drinks, and she had been grasping one before she let it fall from her hand, shattering on the floor with an audible crash. A few people gave her curious looks, but she remained frozen, her eyes fixed on something behind him.

“Natasha!?” Bucky stood up from his chair, alarmed. “What is it? what’s wrong-?“

He finally turned. Across the room, a man was sitting at a table, his gaze directly on the bar. He had a large build and was wearing a well-cut suit. He had a thick, black mustache that barely hid the crimson of his lips. He was looking at Natasha, looking at her and smiling. 

Bucky turned again when he heard Natasha growl. Her entire body had gone rigid, she had abandoned her chair and stood up, her body coiling as though about to pounce. Her lips were pulled back from her teeth and her fangs were exposed, the snarl coming from her throat without a thought for the people in the restaurant, who were all staring open-mouthed. Her body language didn’t exude fearlessness-she looked like a cornered animal, trying to put on a show of bravery in the face of a hunter.

The man shook his head. “Really Natalia, is this how you greet your creator after all these years? How disappointing.”

Creator. Ivan. This was Ivan. Before Bucky could stop himself, his lips had pulled back from his teeth and he was bearing his fangs too, a feral growl rumbling in his chest as he realized exactly who he was looking at.

He felt Natasha grab his hand, and they were running, knocking over tables and chairs, sending glasses and plates shattering to the floor. Then they were outside in the crisp night air, heading towards the woods. Natasha swung around to face him, her eyes wild.

“We have to run, now! Before he-!”

“You’ve made a plaything.” Ivan stood nonchalantly a few feet from them, eyeing Bucky with contempt. “Well, I’ll destroy him first.”

“After all these years, you come back to torment me again?” Natasha spoke through clenched teeth, each word sounding as though it were grating against glass. “Can you not crawl back to whatever cave you emerged from Ivan, and give me some peace?”

“Oh Natalia,” Ivan smiled. “Didn’t I say you would always belong to me?”

Bucky took a step forward, facing Ivan, his eyes blazing. “Don’t talk to her like that.” 

“The pet speaks.” Ivan raised his eyebrows. “Wherever did you find him, Natalia?” 

“Doesn’t matter where she “found” me,” Bucky hissed through clenched teeth. “I know who you are, and I’ve got a good idea of what you did. So you’re gonna walk away now and disappear before something happens that we’ll both regret!”

“James, don’t . . .!” Natasha’s voice rang out behind him. Ivan moved so quickly that Bucky barely registered the blow that sent him flying into a nearby tree. The force of the impact snapped the thick bark of the trunk as though it were a twig. His head collided directly with the tree, sending a jolt of searing agony, temporarily stunning his senses.

Bucky heard Natasha scream in rage. When his eyes opened, he saw her attacking Ivan. She had pounced on top of his back, her hands clawing at his chest, his face. She managed to sink her fangs deep into his shoulder. Ivan bellowed in pain, reached up with one hand, and tossed her body off his and hard onto the ground a few feet away. Black blood poured from his wound.

Bucky managed to pull himself from the ground. His ears rang from the impact of hitting the tree, but every nerve of his body was alive and angry. Seeing Natasha on the ground made him let out a bone-chilling snarl, his lips pulled back and his fangs fully exposed. He felt himself coil up, his muscles tightening, preparing to pounce.

He launched himself at Ivan, managing to catch him while he was still reeling from Natasha’s blow. His right hand landed a solid punch to Ivan’s jaw, knocking his head back and sending him plunging to the ground. But before he could land a further blow, Ivan sank his nails into the collar of his shirt. Bucky felt the hard Earth shatter and give way underneath him as he was thrown backwards. Pain shot through every limb, and he heard himself cry out.

Not a second later, Bucky felt sharp nails cutting into the flesh of his shoulders. He opened his eyes to find Ivan’s face inches from his own, eyes blazing with rage. Bucky hissed sharply as he was lifted off the ground. 

For a minute, Ivan’s eyes studied him. “Natalia isn’t yours, she belongs to me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Natasha struggling to get up from the ground. Ivan’s blow must have knocked her out for a couple seconds. He looked into her wide, horrified eyes and choked out, “If you think she . . . she belongs to anyone . . . t-then you’re the most foolish thing alive!”

Ivan just smiled. Bucky heard Natasha’s long, howling scream as he felt the fangs sink into his throat.


	21. A Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!! I'm so mean, leaving you guys on a cliffhanger like that and then not updating lol!! But school got really crazy and I also went through a depressive episode where I didn't feel like writing. But I finally got my shit together and finished the chapter!! 
> 
> WARNING: this chapter has some heavy violence and gore so if you're sensitive to that stuff you should probably skip this one.
> 
> On another note: I know you guys love this story and want to read more, but PLEASE don't leave me those "when are you updating???" comments ok? I love writing this story, but I'm also a senior in college struggling with classes and mental illness and I can't always find the time or willpower to write. And those kinds of comments only leave me feeling shitty and depressed that I can't update quicker. I know a lot of other writers feel the same way about this so please don't leave those kinds of comments.

Natasha barely heard herself shrieking as Ivan sank his teeth into James’s throat. Black blood poured from the would, dripping down to the ground below. Ivan didn’t drink it. He pulled away, his mouth stained black, eyeing the body he held with disgust. 

A large gash of flesh had been torn out of James’s neck. His eyes were open, but the whites shone where they had rolled into his head. His body started to convulse. 

Ivan tossed him to the ground as though he were a piece of rotten food. James convulsed violently on the ground for a few moments. And then he lay still.

“You know,” Ivan said nonchalantly, turning to where Natasha still lay on the ground, numb and motionless. “Contrary to what most people think, it doesn’t take very much to kill one of our kind. Just as a bite can create one of us, another by our kind can destroy us. Although it is better to burn the body, just to be certain.” He grinned, his fangs still stained black with James’s blood. “Would you like to see?”

Natasha couldn’t move. All she could do was stare at the body laying a few feet away from her. James’s body. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just stared.

Finally, she made her mouth move. “ . . . why?” The word was barely audible, hushed and strangled.

Ivan knelt before her. She flinched away. He snorted, “really Natalia, did you honestly think that toy would have amused you for long? He would have deserted you eventually. He was weak, I could tell that from the second I laid eyes on-“

“No.” Natasha heard her own voice as though she was in an echo chamber. It was toneless, detached. “Why did you choose me? All those years ago? Why?”

The question seemed to catch Ivan off guard, because it took him nearly a minute to answer. “You had a gift, Natalia. You could see people, charm them. You had gifts even you didn’t know you had. But I saw them, on that stage at the Bolshoi. I saw who you could truly be. And won’t you know it?” He grinned. “Once I turned you, you became exactly what I had envisioned. If only you hadn’t foolishly ran from it, but well . . . I’ve found you again, haven’t I?”

“You took everything from me.” Natasha breathed out, her breath exhaling in a puff of steam into the cool night air. 

Ivan’s face twisted in anger. “I made you what you are, who you are, and don’t you forget that! I made you into a killer! It is not my fault that you still hang onto these childish fantasies of the ballet, of being anything other than what you were made to be!” 

He seized her wrist violently, squeezing it hard enough to make her bear her teeth in pain. “Enough of this! We’re going home, and if you ever try escaping from me again, I won’t be so generous with you next time.”

Natasha ignored the pain in her wrist, her eyes instead drifting back to James’s body. His back was turned to her, black blood staining the grass around him. James. Her James.

No. 

“No!” The word sounded more like a growl than a voice coming from Natasha’s snarling mouth. 

Ivan’s eyes widened in startled surprise as Natasha wrenched her wrist free from his grasp. Her vision reddening with rage, she sank her teeth into his arm, relishing the way he cried out in pain.

“You took everything! You took my life! My soul! You took him!” She her feel her face contorted into an expression of pure hellfire. “You won’t take anything else!”

Ivan snarled out a curse as he wrenched his arm free and threw his weight against Natasha with all his strength, sending her flying back a few meters. She managed to stay on her feet, her heels digging into the ground. Then Ivan rushed her. Natasha felt a searing stab of agony as his fangs sank into her shoulder.

“You’ll pay for that, you traitorous bitch!” Ivan snarled as he tore away from the wound, his eyes blazing.

Despite the pain overwhelming her senses, Natasha managed to get ahold of both his arms, loosening his grip on top of her. She kicked her legs, landing a solid punch to his gut, sending him off her and onto the ground. She quickly got to her feet. Her vision was nearly red.The pain didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered besides making Ivan suffer.

Ivan had struggled to his feet before she slammed herself full force into him. Natasha heard the bones in his back crunch as the tree she slammed him into shattered, heard his distinct howl of pain. The sound made a horrifying grin spread across her face. But then Ivan put his hands around her throat.

Natasha gasped as her airways were cut off. Ivan squeezed his hands tighter, making her vision almost go black. He snapped at her with his teeth, his eyes blazing. “You know,” he snarled. “I’m not going to kill you, not here. I’m going to drag you back to the Red Room, and I’m going to chain you up in the basement with the blood bags. You’ll never see the outside world again. You’ll never find anyone like that plaything I killed again! I’ll make sure you suffer every second of every night for the rest of your miserable eternity-“

Natasha had been desperately grasping at the ground for something, anything, to loosen Ivan’s grip. Her hand grasped a splintered piece of wood from where the tree had shattered. It was a fairly large piece, and felt substantial in her hands. Her vision going dim, she used the last of her strength to hurl it at Ivan.

His words were cut off in a frothy shriek as the sharpened point of the splintered wood went into his throat.

Natasha freed herself from his grip, but for a few moments all she could do was gasp as she regained air. Ivan had sunk to his knees, both his hands clutching at the wound she had dealt him. Black blood was rapidly staining his clothes, as well as the blood dribbling out of his mouth. He was making labored, husky gasping sounds as he stared at her, his face a mask of shock. The wood was still embedded in his neck.  
Natasha stood up. Looking at him, Ivan, her creator, her tormenter, on the ground in front of her, all the rage came flooding back. She knelt in front him, boring her eyes into his.

“Maybe you would’ve kept me alive,” she said in a low voice. “Maybe you would have considered that a more fitting punishment than death. But I don’t.” She yanked the piece of wood from Ivan’s throat, causing a fresh gush of blood. Ivan make a gurgling sound.

“You deserve this, you worm!” Natasha snarled, reaching a hand out to grasp the back of his neck. She bit deeply into his throat letting the foul tasting blood fill her mouth. She felt Ivan writhe and thrash in her grip, but she held on. Just when she could feel she was causing him the most pain, she ripped her mouth away. Flesh, tendons, and muscle came away in her mouth. Ivan fell on his back, his hands still grasping at his neck. His were were glassy, and his mouth was frothing. 

Natasha spit out the blood and skin, and knelt over Ivan’s body. He still lived, his breathing ragged and uneven, whistling out of the hole in his neck. She wanted to say something. A final farewell? One last insult to the man who had stolen everything from her? But she found there was nothing left to be said. Instead, she lifted his head up from the ground and snapped it back hard. She barely needed to exert strength as the final strings of muscle, bone, and tendon snapped, effectively severing the head from the body. She tossed Ivan’s head a few feet away, and stood up. It was done.

As quickly as it had come, the rage left her. She felt . . . numb. Detached. As though she had not committed the grisly scene that now lay before her. Natasha took a breath, letting the cold night air seep into her lungs. Ivan was gone. He could no longer hunt her. She was free. And James . . .

James!

Natasha scrambled over to where he lay. He was still there on the ground, unmoving. Natasha knelt over him. His eyes were closed. He looked beautiful, almost peaceful, in his expression. The gash on his neck had stopped oozing blood.

“Oh God . . . James.” Natasha’s voice broke as she buried her face into his chest. She was sobbing, her entire body shaking. “I . . . I did this to you. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!” Not just Ivan. Finding him, turning him, exposing him to this life of pain and death. It was all her fault. He paid for her mistakes. She was to blame.

Her keening echoed off of the shadowed trees. She would take him somewhere quiet, peaceful. She would bury him somewhere he would never be disturbed again. Then she would go off alone again. She wouldn’t risk any contact ever again. She would make sure she was alone. I was what she deserved for letting this happen. She deserved to be alone.

Suddenly Natasha’s head snapped up, and she was quiet, listening. Her chest didn’t rise and fall: she wouldn’t even let her own breath impede what she was listening for.

Was James . . . breathing?

She put her ear to his mouth. Yes! It was soft, faint, but it was steady. Natasha looked at his face, gently she touched a finger to his lips. They moved slightly under her touch.

Once again, sobs echoed through the forest. But this time they were sobs of joy. Natasha clutched James to her chest, weeping with relief. James was alive. She could heal him, she could . . .

A crunch of leaves behind her made Natasha look up. Yelena’s face was impassive as she surveyed the scene before her: Ivan’s mangled corpse off to the side, Natasha covered in blood and dirt as she clutched James’s unconscious body against her own. 

“Oh dear,” Yelena sighed. “What have you gotten yourself into now, Natasha?”


	22. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, happy holidays! Finally finals are over and I can hopefully finish this fic! Just a heads up for some brief nudity in this chapter. 
> 
> Also, Yelena's back! Like I wasn't gonna finish this without having her appear at least one more time! :)

Yelena knelt beside Natasha. Her expression was carefully natural, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Natasha was still holding James in her arms, both of them covered in blood. Ivan’s blood. 

“He’s hurt. Badly. We need to get him under cover.” Yelena inclined her head towards the trees. “There’s a cave not far from here. Can you stand?”

Natasha nodded, although the adrenaline from destroying Ivan and realizing James was alive was starting to drain away. Shakily, she got to her feet, carefully holding James by his shoulders. His breathing was still steady, but he showed no reaction to being lifted from the ground. Yelena moved to steady them both, putting her hand against Natasha’s back. Natasha almost flinched away, but took a deep breath as she realized that, despite everything, Yelena seemed like she truly wanted to help.

“The body.” Natasha whispered. Ivan’s mangled corpse still lay on the ground where she had left it.

Yelena glanced toward it. “I’ll take care of it. Lets get him to shelter first.”

The cave was dark, but dry and closed off. The two women carefully laid James on the hard-packed earthen floor. Blood was caked in his dark hair so that it was plastered to his forehead, making it stand out sharply against the pale of his skin. Even paler than usual. Natasha bit her lip as she lowered herself to the flood beside him, reaching out to touch his face. She forced herself not to look at the large gash that was still visible on his neck.

She hadn’t realized Yelena had left the cave until she smelled the burning flesh. When she ventured outside, Natasha saw her a few yards away, standing over the smoldering ash that had been Ivan’s body. She held a cigarette between her lips, letting the smoke drift into the cool air. Her eyes were bright, almost triumphant. Natasha turned away. Some part of her knew the Yelena wanted this small, secret part of destroying Ivan. The man who had caused them both so much pain. She understood that better than anyone.

She knelt beside James again. Her adrenaline had worn off, leaving her body shaking and trembling. She wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t. James needed her, what if she woke up and he was . . .

“It’s alright.” Yelena knelt beside Natasha. Her eyes scanned James’s unconscious form. “He seems stable . . . for now. He is lucky, Ivan didn’t have time to finish the job. Thanks to you.” She looked at her again, and Natasha swore there was admiration in her eyes. 

“He’ll need time to heal. He’ll probably be out for a few days, at least. Yelena’s eyes softened. “You must rest too, Natasha. I’ll watch over him while you do.”

Natasha wanted to argue, but the weakness in her limbs and the heaviness in her eyelids argued against it. She could feel the first rays of the sun beginning to peak over the horizon, making the prospect of sleep even more alluring.

“Wake me up if anything happens. Please, Yelena,” She whispered. In the back of her mind, she was still wondering why Yelena was helping her. There were so many unasked questions between them, so many things they had never spoken of. But those thoughts faded quickly as Natasha lay down close to James, as her eyes closed and her mind faded into grateful oblivion. 

——————————————————————————————————

When Natasha woke, it was night again. Soft rays of moonlight illuminated the cave walls, making them seem almost purple in the darkness. James was still lying on the ground next to her, his eyes closed, his breathing soft and even. The ragged gash in his neck was still there, but it appeared less inflamed then it had been the previous night, and the size of the wound was smaller. He was healing. Natasha breathed out a sigh. 

She looked down at herself. Her dress was horribly stained, as was the rest of her body. Her fingernails were caked in the black blood of her creator. She could feel that it was staining her mouth as well, and had become caked in her hair. She grimaced.

Without a word, Natasha got up and walked out of the cave, into the crisp night air. It must have snowed during the day, because the ground and tree branches were covered in a fine dusting of white. The moon shone high overhead, it’s rays illuminating the path she walked. Even the soles of her feet had been stained, as her footprints left reddish prints that marred the white. The forest was deathly quiet, and Natasha walked as if in a dream, letting the wind tangle her hair.

It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for. A small pond surrounded by trees, only starting to freeze over from the cooler temperature. The moonlight shone clearly off the pristine surface of the water. The only other company she had was the presence of a few white swans, clustered on the far bank, floating tranquilly on the surface. Natasha paid them no mind as she undressed, pulling off her filthy dress and ripped stockings, until she stood naked at the edge of the water.

Natasha barely felt the frigid temperature as she walked into the pond, immersing her body in the water. For a few moments she didn’t move, letting her eyes close as she felt the calming sensation of the liquid against her body. But then she began to scrub viciously at her skin, trying to remove the blood that still clung to her. It was difficult without soap, but Natasha was determined, rubbing at her skin until it felt nearly raw. For a moment she dunked her head into the pond, soaking herself completely, in order to get the black blood that was still caked in her hair.

After what felt like an eternity, Natasha finally felt clean enough to emerge from the water. In her determinedness to wash the blood from her body, she hadn’t noticed Yelena emerging from the trees and coming to stand by the bank. She was watching Natasha, her face expressionless. In her arms she held what looked to be a blanket and a fresh set of clothes, most likely stolen from a town nearby. 

There was no bashfulness from either of them as Yelena handed the blanket to Natasha to cover her body. How many times had they seen each other naked? Changing into costumes backstage at the Bolshoi? When they were little girls living in the orphanage? In those days, privacy was nearly impossible. Natasha barely reacted as she wrapped the blanket around herself and followed Yelena back towards the cave.

James was still exactly where they had left him, the wound on his throat still growing smaller. Yelena settled herself in a corner and waited until Natasha had dressed herself in the new clothes: a soft cotton blouse and pants, before she finally spoke. 

“So he’s finally gone. I never thought we would be rid of him.” She spoke so softly, if Natasha had possessed only human levels of hearing she wouldn’t have made out the words. “How did it feel? When you . . . ?” 

Natasha thought of the gurgling noises that came from Ivan’s mouth, tearing into his flesh, the blood . . . 

“All I felt was rage, and horror. But not for him, for James.” She admitted. It was true. Of course she was glad to be rid of her loathsome creator more than words could describe. But with her thinking James dead, the victory felt hollow, wrong. And even with James alive, Natasha still felt numb. 

“He took so much from us. Or . . . from you.” Yelena wouldn’t meet Natasha’s eyes, and she knew she was thinking about that night on the stage so many decades ago.

“He took from you too.” Natasha moved closer to her. “He manipulated you, same as me. He took us away from everything we knew, made us into killers. It was him, Yelena.”

“He manipulated me with things I wanted, Natasha. I . . . I wanted to replace you on that night, I wanted to prove I was the better dancer, and for that I was willing to . . . “ Yelena’s face wore an expression Natasha had rarely seen: shame. “Forgive me.”

Long ago, Natasha would have still born the anger and rage towards Yelena for what she did. But not anymore. Not after everything they’d both been through. She took Yelena’s hand. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Natasha’s eyes widened as she heard movement and a weak cough, and both her and Yelena turned to see James stir.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

After Ivan had bitten through his throat, Bucky had been numb to the world. It was nearly the same as when he had fallen from the train: he was aware only of the pain that coursed through his body. The burning agony emanating from his throat was nearly unbearable. Even more unbearable was his terror for Natasha. Where was she? What had happened after everything had gone dark? Bucky tried desperately to wake, to open his eyes, but his body was frozen just like when he had been turned.

After a little while, the pain in his throat began to subside. He began to hear voices around him. His body flooded with relief as he recognized Natasha’s. She was alright. Bucky couldn’t imagine what we would do if she wasn’t . . .

Slowly he began to regain feeling in his body and limbs. The pain in his throat was nearly gone. But soon that pain began to be replaced by a different pain, one after months of experiencing it he knew all too well.

He was starving. 

——————————————————————————————————————————

Natasha could have wept as she saw James’s eyes open. Instantly she was at side, her hands reaching out to steady him. “James! Can you hear me?”

“Nat-Natasha.” James’s voice was slow, sluggish. His fangs had extended fully so that they could be seen below his lip. “Hungry . . .”

Yelena stood up. “He needs to feed. He’s took weak to hunt. I’ll bring back something from the nearest town, as soon as I can.” 

Natasha nodded as Yelena dashed out of the cave. And turned back to James. His skin was paler even more than normal, so it shone nearly white. But what had once been a lethal gash in his throat had now subsided into nearly a pale white scar. She sighed with relief. 

“So hungry . . .” James mumbled again, still nearly delirious from his ordeal. Carefully Natasha lifted his head and placed in in her lap, letting her hands run through his hair. 

“I know, Mili Moi. Yelena will be back soon, just try to rest.” She hadn’t used that name in decades, and even then it was mostly said in jest to fans and potential suitors. But it felt so right tumbling off Natasha’s lips, with James’s head cradled in her hands. Her silent heart filled with relief and joy as she kept whispering to him softly, barely noticing the cave around them or the wind howling outside. She had James, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
